In His Hands (Season 5, Episode 3)
by bionic4ever
Summary: (Season 5, Episode 3): Is the person who attacked Jaime and hurt her so badly now the only one who can save her life - and will he even agree to do it? Who is truly behind everything that's befallen our heroes...and can they be stopped before it's too late? Special thanks to down30 and the members of The Bionic Project!
1. Prologue

**In His Hands** - Season 5, Episode 3

Prologue

Saturday, May 9, 1981

_**''She's been shot in the head**__!_''

It had been a 'simple' mission, nothing to complicate it on the surface - but as Steve and Jaime were both well aware, even the simplest mission could go bad in less than a heartbeat. In fact, sometimes they could go very, _very_ bad. Steve had just finished bathing Becca (and was still dancing through the kitchen with his daughter wrapped cozily in a towel) when the phone rang. Oscar's voice had been grim, even with the initial Intel report that stated simply that Jaime had been shot. Moving on auto-pilot, Steve got Becca dressed and they headed for National Medical...where the news was even worse. Rudy had also heard those initial reports and whether it was the news or just too many late nights and early mornings...he had collapsed and was being tended to by his cardiologist.

Doctor Corinth waited with an OR at the ready for Jaime's arrival. As they wheeled her in, one of the medics shouted the news to the doctor: one single bullet...to her head. Corinth and his team (along with Rudy's team) moved into place in the OR and the frantic effort to save Jaime began. Corinth emerged from the big double doors within mere hours...and Steve's heart sank. Was Jaime _dead_?

''She's alive,'' were the first words out of the neurosurgeon's mouth. ''There appears to have been only moderate blood loss. The medics report no brain tissue leakage on the gurney and the largest bionic component in Jaime's head seems to have acted as a sort of shield, deflecting the bullet and sending it back out of her skull, rather than allowing it further into her brain. This prevented an instant catastrophe but...that's all the good news I have.''

''Tell me the rest, Doc...please...'' Steve said softly.

''There's been some nerve and tissue damage that - especially due to the positioning of her bionic components - I simply don't have the expertise to try and correct. I could keep Jaime alive; that's possible, yes...although right now she's extremely critical so even that is not guaranteed. But if you want '_your_' Jaime back - fully functioning both physically and mentally or as close to 'normal' as possible - there's only one man we can get here quickly enough to save her, who has the knowledge and expertise in neuro-reconstruction and regeneration to offer any real hope. And it'll take an act of God - or at the very least, of Oscar Goldman - to get him here in time.''

Steve's eyes closed briefly as the reality hit him all at once. The man who had so nearly taken Jaime's life...was now her only hope. _**Michael Marchetti**_...


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Friday, May 8, 1981

Jaime grinned at Steve as she took a huge bite of her sandwich. ''You're becoming quite the chef these days, Austin,'' she praised. He had fashioned the turkey, ham and provolone subs while his wife fed Becca. The baby was nearly three months old now and had finally passed through the 'premie' stage, the 'newborn' stage - and moved rapidly onward toward normal infant growth and development. Doctor Hammond had explained to them that they should consider the first six weeks of Becca's life as time she would've spent in the womb - and thus when comparing her to 'normal' growth and development charts, she'd only be approaching six weeks old...but Jaime and Steve both felt she'd catch up fast.

''Maybe kitchen duty should be yours permanently,'' Jaime concluded.

''Nah...you can still cook circles around me, any day of the week.''

''Well, I can't show you all of my secrets at once, now...can I?''

Steve raised his eyebrows mischievously and adopted his best (worst) foreign accent. ''Ve haff vays of making you talk!'' he joked. Before they could begin exploring just what those 'ways' might be, the doorbell rang. ''Please tell me you're stopping in to see Becca on your way to your next meeting,'' Steve groaned, stepping aside to allow Oscar in the door.

''I always love to see your daughter, of course,'' Oscar said smoothly, ''but this time...I need to talk to Jaime.''

Steve was glad the baby was asleep. ''Oscar, it's too soon! You - you said you'd wait!''

''And I did, Pal - for over two weeks; unfortunately something urgent has come up.'' Oscar turned to Jaime. ''How are you feeling? Any residual weakness?''

''Nope. I'm ready,'' Jaime firmly assured both men. ''I am! There haven't even been any nightmares for over a week. Where are you sending me? Paris? Thailand? Trinidad?''

''Los Angeles,'' Oscar told her, ''by Presidential Order. Do you remember the law firm you brought down last year, with help from Donald Harris?''

Jaime nodded. ''Of course.''

''It was only the tip of a very large - and very dangerous - iceberg. It seems that government information is flying out of Los Angeles at an alarming rate. Our agents have managed to discover who the latest buyer was but we need more -''

''You need to find out who's stealing this 'stuff'...and stop them,'' Jaime concluded.

''That's right. Your part will be to break into the receiving party's safe, retrieve the information - in this case a set of blueprints for the most vital portion of our country's new missile defense system - and find out anything you can about where the information was purchased.''

Steve frowned. ''A break-in...in the middle of the night? I don't like it.''

''We have to move fast,'' Oscar explained. ''There's no time left for the agents already in place to try and locate the source, or for Jaime to work her way in through 'normal' channels and establish a cover. You should be able to break in, crack the safe - while keeping your ear pealed for guards - grab the files, search the safe and leave, faster than an entire team would be able to achieve in days...or even longer. For you, in and out and back by morning, with whatever you can recover; that should hopefully give our agents something of a jump start - and more to go on.''

Jaime smiled reassuringly at Steve. ''I'll be fine. I can do this! Just point me in the right direction!''

* * *

Saturday, May 9, 1981

Getting Oscar to agree was (surprisingly) the easy part. Getting Michael onboard...not so easy.

''Marchetti!'' The guard called to Michael, who was lazily indulging in a few hands of poker in the Isolation Day Room. ''Get up! You have visitors!''

''Busy!'' Michael called back.

''It's Oscar Goldman and Colonel Austin.''

''Still not interested; I've got markers to win back here. Maybe in a few more hands...but maybe not,'' Michael called over his shoulder.

''My instructions are to drag you there if necessary.''

''Damn persistent S.O.B.s...'' Michael grumbled under his breath as he got up to follow the guard and allowed himself to be shackled.

When he reached the small room normally used for conferences between inmates and their attorneys (and thus, no glass partition), Michael gave his visitors a smirk. ''To what do I owe the distinct non-pleasure?'' he sneered.

Oscar quickly explained the situation - and why Michael's assistance was so urgently needed.

''Let me get this straight; you put me away for probably the rest of my life - and now you want my _help_?'' Michael said with an even broader sneer.

''Please, Michael,'' Steve begged, speaking for the first time since his adversary had been brought in. ''Do this for Jaime. You've always said how much you cared about her...''

''Have the guard remove these chains - and then we'll talk,'' Michael bargained.

Oscar nodded to the guard...and took his weapon from its holster, just in case.

''Tell me more about her condition,'' Michael requested once his arms and legs had been freed (snapping into physician mode again, in spite of himself).

''Critical,'' Oscar told him grimly. ''Jaime is very near death. Corinth has her in electro-sleep so he can keep her 'under' longer, with less risk than a regular anesthetic.'' Rapidly (but thoroughly), using the notes Corinth had given him, he detailed Jaime's current physical state.

Michael nodded. ''When they brought her in, were there any signs of awareness? What was her consciousness level; do you know her Glasgow Score?''

Oscar consulted the notes. ''Eight.''

''Alright; yes, I believe she's still salvageable. And I can save her. Now tell me why I'd want to.''


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Friday, May 8, 1981

The entire five-story office building was dark and silent; TOO silent for Jaime's liking. It spoke of the possibility of infrared beams and traps she simply couldn't see. She wished for a moment that Steve was beside her so they could both benefit from his bionic eye. _Stop it_! She told herself sternly. _I can do this! Oscar sent me because he believes I'm fully capable; I just need to believe that, too!_ Well, no, that wasn't entirely true...and Jaime knew it. Oscar hadn't sent Steve because Steve was temporarily deactivated. Still, her ear was necessary to crack open the safe. In all likelihood, if Steve had been his 'normal' self, Jaime knew, Oscar would've sent them both. (But where would that have left Becca...?)

_Knock it off_! she admonished herself. _Concentrate_! From the blueprints she'd studied, Jaime knew there were at least five safes: one each in the offices of the CEO and CFO and one in the office of the three department heads. Going solely on her own instinct, she headed first for the fourth floor - and the safe belonging to the Chief of Research and Development. When she reached the top of the stairwell and looked through the tiny window, she could barely make out several guards walking the length of the hallway. For anyone else this would be a deterrent; for Jaime it was reassuring. It meant a much lower likelihood of those dreaded invisible beams. She'd just have to find a way to get past them. A diversion on another floor would only alert the whole building that something wasn't 'right'; that would have to be a last resort.

* * *

Steve fed Becca her bottle and chose Jaime's favorite chair in the living room rather than the (slightly smaller) nursery chair to rock the infant. He held her long after she'd fallen asleep, humming softly to her as he tried to push away his gnawing sense of fear. He'd just put the baby down when he heard the quiet knock at the door.

''I heard Oscar was here,'' Mark told him, ''and thought maybe you could use a sounding board.'' He was relieved that Steve appeared clear-eyed - and with no drink in his hand. ''So...how are you holding up?'' he continued once they'd seated themselves in the living room.

Steve shrugged. ''I'm...worried, Doc. And I shouldn't be. Jaime's worked far tougher assignments than this one - she's stared death straight in the face - and yet, this one scares me. I'm not even sure why.''

''Could it be because you feel responsible that she was sent out at all?'' Mark queried bluntly.

''Well, I am responsible. If it weren't for me - because of what I did - she'd barely have been turned up now, and would still be getting her footing again. Instead...''

''Like you said though, Jaime's worked far tougher missions. Oscar tells me this is a simple in-and-out. She'll be home by morning. Besides, she was trained by the best.''

* * *

Jaime stood at the little window and watched as much as she could see of the guards' movements until she thought she had their rhythm and routine down pat. Her target office was the second door on her right, once she'd stepped into the hallway. The guards stopped at the other end of the hall (where Jaime could no longer see them in the dark) and finally she dared to make her move. She slipped silently out of the stairwell and forced the (locked) office door open as quietly as she could manage, making her way to the safe along the far end on one wall. She stood still and just _listened_ to her surroundings carefully before proceeding, then began slowly spinning the dial on the safe.

After the requisite number of turns and clicks, the safe door swung open...and the office lights began to blink on and off, accompanied by the shrill blare of an alarm. She froze for a split-second, knowing she couldn't go out a fourth-floor window, then grabbed the file (it was the only item in the safe) and bolted for the door, hoping she could outrun the guards.

She was wrong. The three men met her in the doorway, their weapons drawn, blocking her escape. They stared silently, whether it was per instructions or because they didn't speak English was impossible to tell...but Jaime knew she was trapped. With the barrels of their guns, they motioned her into the nearest chair and held her there, wordlessly awaiting the arrival of whatever (or whoever) was coming next.

* * *

Saturday, May 9, 1981

Michael leaned back in his chair, his arms across his chest and a smug look gleaming in his eyes. He held all the cards at this moment...and he knew it. ''The way I see it,'' he told Steve and Oscar, ''if Jaime dies, the only eyewitness against me for any potential appeal is eliminated and - BOOM - I have my freedom back. What possible reason would I have to help you?''

''Your Hippocratic Oath, for starters,'' Oscar said softly. ''You're a _doctor_, Michael. All those years of research; here's your chance to put them to the best possible use.''

Michael laughed. ''You took that away from me, didn't you? I still have my license, pending appeal, but my career is over. Over!''

Oscar wasn't deterred. ''You could make up for the harm you've caused -''

''I care about that...why?'' Michael scoffed. ''Which brings us back to Square One. Show me a single reason why I should even _want_ to do this - what's in it for me, as opposed to what I might lose - and I'll give it some thought. Until then...''

''But Jaime doesn't have _time_ for you to 'give it some thought','' Steve blurted out desperately. ''_Please_, Michael! You've always said how much you care about her! Please don't let her die!''

''Corinth is fully capable of saving her life,'' Michael sneered. ''We all know that. So let's not beat around the bush here. You want more for Jaime than merely keeping her from dying...don't you? Of course you do! You want her to speak, walk, _feel_ and maybe even be bionic again. And I can give that to you - to her. So...what's in it for me?''


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Friday, May 8

Mark watched Steve cycle through a gamut of emotions, far more than the situation called for - from worry, nervous tension and cold, stark fear all the way through grief - in the space of just a few minutes. ''What is it that has you so upset?'' he posed.

''I...don't know,'' Steve admitted. ''Like you said, I trained her...and so did Russ. Hell, even Oscar himself worked with her. And Jaime is intelligent - more than that, she's clever - I have no reason to feel this way. None!''

''Never invalidate your own feelings, Steve,'' Mark told him. ''There's always a cause somewhere...''

He was interrupted from finishing his thought when Becca began to wail almost mournfully from the nursery. Steve frowned. ''That's strange; she was sound asleep. I'll be right back.'' He returned a few minutes later with the still-crying child in his arms. ''Diaper's fine...no fever...'' Steve puzzled. Her refusal to be consoled only added to her father's growing sense of dread - his fear that something was _wrong_. He sat down with her in Jaime's chair and perhaps enough of her mother's scent lingered there because slowly, Becca began to quiet. Instead of humming to her (as was his habit), he sang the soft, lilting Irish Lullaby that was Jaime's choice to settle their daughter down...and Mama's chair and Mama's song worked their magic; Becca soon drifted off again.

Steve, however, was not so easily distracted. Was he just being irrational, he wondered, or was Jaime really in trouble?

* * *

''So...whose 'party' is this anyway?'' Jaime asked, not trying to lighten the mood (that was simply not possible) but trying to get some sort of response - any response - from the three men who stood with long-barreled weapons pointed directly at her. She surreptitiously pressed the 'Help' button hidden among the decorative studs on the belt Oscar had given her to wear (and although she'd protested at the time, since her datacom had been wrenched away she was grateful Oscar had insisted) Now she could only hope the cavalry would arrive before whoever (or whatever) these men appeared to be waiting for. Her intuition told her someone must've been summoned who wasn't already in the building; would her luck hold out long enough?

No...it would not. ''_Jaime_'', a voice chided from the door. Jaime gasped involuntarily at the man's identity.

''I gather you're surprised,'' her adversary chuckled. His guards stepped away but remained directly behind Jaime's chair, their still-unvoiced threat very, very real.

''Why...?'' Jaime asked, stunned at the man's identity. (She'd never have thought he had it in him.)

''I don't have to answer to you; from the looks of it, you've got some pretty fancy answering to do to me, though. On second thought, don't bother. I already know who sent you - and I know why. Judging from that wide-open safe door and the file in your hand, I know what you did. I also know how you did it. So I guess we have nothing left to say to each other, do we? Except this.'' He pulled his own weapon (equipped with a silencer) from inside his jacket and trained it on her head. ''Get on your knees, Jaime.''

''Do you really want that much of a mess on your carpet?'' Jaime asked, still hoping to stall for just enough time.

''It's not my carpet, so the 'mess' as you so eloquently put it, is not my concern Just one shot...and it's all over!''

Jaime looked up at him as she sat in the chair, his eyes glaring at her as she stared down the barrel of a weapon clearly intended to take her life...and she froze. She didn't throw her right arm at his weapon-arm, knocking it away. She didn't make the subsequent bolt for the door (which might've been suicidal given three other gunmen off to the side, but at least it would've been an _action_ as opposed to freezing and waiting to be executed). She didn't even attempt to talk to him, to stall until help could arrive. Once she was looking down that barrel into his eyes...Jaime froze.

_''Get on your knees, Jaime, NOW_!'' he repeated. He nodded to his henchmen who forced her from the chair and into 'position' on the floor before backing away to allow their boss a clear shot.

Jaime never heard the gun go off...

* * *

Saturday, May 9

Steve would've been on his knees if the tiny room had the room to allow it. ''Please, Michael,'' he tried again, ''we're not asking you to do this for us. Do it for _Jaime_...please...''

Michael laughed derisively. ''For the woman who was instrumental in putting me away? As a favor before I go back behind bars like nothing ever happened? I hardly think so! No offers to bring to the table - just impassioned pleas from her loved ones? Yes, Goldman, I count you among her 'loved ones' - and we both know why. Anyhow, since you're offering nothing, let me tell you what I want, in order to turn Jaime from a hopeless case into a fully functioning human being again.''

''We're listening,'' Oscar confirmed. ''No guarantees, of course, but we'll do everything we can to -''

''Everything you can?'' Michael scoffed. ''No guarantees? Sorry, Goldman; not nearly good enough. Let's start again. These are the things that _will_ happen...or I go back to my poker game, which I was winning handily, by the way. _First_ - I perform the follow-up care while Jaime's still in the hospital, not just the initial surgery. I want her to know who saved her. I want her to...'' (A miniscule amount of humanity crept into Michael's voice, for just a fleeting second.) ''I want her to see that I'm not the monster she made me out to be. Of course I realize that her personal guard dog - i.e. her loving husband or his designates - will make certain I'm not alone with her. That's fine; I have no problem with that.''

Steve and Oscar nodded. It would irk them...but it was do-able. ''You've...got it,'' Steve allowed, swallowing back his pride along with his anger.

''Second -'' Michael went on, ''there will be NO guards following me around or even standing just outside the door. I will _not_ allow myself to be demeaned or treated like some _prisoner_. Third - I'll need an office again. Not necessarily my old one and it doesn't have to be fancy; just a home base to use while I'm there. Because of course I don't intend to remain at National once my work there is finished. Which leads me to Number Four - and the most important. _Freedom_. I want out of this place - permanently - with all charges against me dropped and my record expunged.''

''Michael, even if I wanted to give that to you, there are channels to go through,'' Oscar told him. ''I don't want to make a promise I might not be able to keep.''

''Goldman, you and I both know you could probably part the Red Sea if you put your mind to it,'' Michael chuckled. Then his eyes grew dark and serious. ''There you have it; those are my conditions. Meet them, and I'll give you Jaime back, the way that you knew her. She'll be able to laugh again while she enjoys the simple and not-so-simple pleasures of life. And so will I. Her life - for my freedom. Take it or leave it.''


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Friday, May 8

''Your feelings are never invalid,'' Mark repeated. ''So talk to me. What's going on, Steve?''

''I shouldn't feel this way,'' he acknowledged. ''Jaime passed every test we threw at her with flying colors - she exceeded every spec - and she worked several missions before she had Becca. Quite successfully, I should add. And while I didn't like knowing she was out there then, and potentially in danger, it didn't grab me the way it's grabbing me now.''

''The way what is grabbing you?'' Mark asked.

''Fear,'' Steve told him. ''Raw, cold, stab-you-in-the-belly _fear_. For absolutely no good reason. I don't suppose...one drink - just to quiet my nerves?''

Mark shook his head. ''You know my answer to that. And by asking, you're telling me there's a bottle still squirreled away somewhere in this house. So let's have it.''

''Aw, c'mon, Doc. Need to have one here...for company...''

''Nonsense. Give it to me.''

Steve handed the baby to Mark and headed into the bedroom where he scrounged around in the back of his closet, behind the suitcases, the hanging suits and various boxes, until he found it. Grudgingly, he turned the bottle of brandy over to Mark.

''And this is the last one? Not even an airline sample hidden in your sock drawer?'' Mark probed. ''At least the seal isn't broken; kudos for that. Now...back to today. What is it that has you so worried?''

* * *

Jaime never heard the shot...and even though her eyes were still open, she didn't see her shooter beat a hasty retreat (or his henchmen, a slower one). Strange that she felt no pain; hadn't she just been...shot? Was she already dead? There hadn't been a 'bright tunnel of light' and she didn't see any relatives who'd 'gone on' before her...but Jaime wasn't aware of her surroundings anymore, either. What she did see, as though through a hazy, gauze-like veil..._Steve and Becca_. They needed her! She had to hang on, had to somehow find help...but Jaime couldn't move.

She didn't see the small squadron of OSI men flood into the office, followed by the building's guards - the same guards who had just acted as henchmen - who explained they'd been downstairs on a break. She didn't hear the first OSI man on the scene radio for an ambulance...didn't see their worried, stricken faces as they leaned over her while they waited for help. All she saw was _Steve and Becca_.

All of that changed when Russ hurried in, arriving even before the medics to kneel at her side. Jaime flinched from him (without actually moving), suddenly didn't want him - or anyone else - to touch her. His face and his urgent demand for her attention and response brought Jaime slamming back to reality...and a swirling mass of confusion and pain.

Shot...she'd been shot. So many faces, all of them looking at her as if she were already dead. Someone in a red jacket snapped his fingers in front of her face and Jaime blinked. The snapping moved off to the side and although she could hear it (and blinked again) she was unable to turn toward the sound. 'Nod if you can hear me' became 'blink if you can hear me'...and Jaime blinked again. She heard someone moaning softly in pain but didn't know where the sound might be coming from as she, herself, still felt nothing. Shot...she'd been shot.

Strong, gentle hands lifted her onto a stretcher, repeatedly asking her to wriggle her toes, nod her head, move her hands...but the best Jaime could manage was an occasional blink in acknowledgment. She wondered if she should feel frightened, angry or agonized but all she felt was sadness and a strange sense of curious detachment.

She'd...been...shot...

* * *

Saturday, May 9

His _freedom_?! ''It's not that simple,'' Oscar stalled.

''For you?'' Michael scoffed. ''Of course it is.''

''I don't want to make you a promise that I'm forced to go back on later,'' Oscar told him.

''Then I guess we're done here...aren't we? Guard!'' Michael called.

''Michael...wait,'' Steve pleaded. As a former doctor, surely there was a shred of compassion, of basic human decency, left in him somewhere...wasn't there?

''Shoe's on the other foot now, isn't it?'' Michael taunted. ''You're the one who stands to lose Jaime. _Forever_. Hurts, doesn't it - right down to the core of that teflon soul of yours? And with all of your so-called 'strength' - all of your muscle-bound glory - you can't do a thing to save her this time...can you? _Can you?_ You need me. After calling me an attempted murderer and even worse things than that, you need me.''

''Yes; I need your help. Please, Michael,'' Steve begged softly.

''And _your wife_ needs me. Seems there's something you can't give her, after all.''

Steve had to choke back his anger. Jaime was _dying_ - and this monster was intent on rubbing their noses in the past! There was nothing he could do but go along...on Michael's terms. Steve turned to look pleadingly at his boss, trying to say everything with just one helpless glance. ''Oscar...?''


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Friday, May 8

Mark had practically needed to shove Steve out the door. ''Go,'' he'd insisted, ''run off some of that tension. I've got Becca - so for at least an hour, don't worry about taking care of anyone...except yourself.''

It was an odd feeling, running full-out and not having to carefully watch his own pace to avoid attracting attention. Steve's heart panged at the knowledge that this same lack of bionic strength meant he'd be unable to aid his own wife, if something went wrong. He found himself turning abruptly for home again, willing to face Mark's wrath at not having taken an entire hour, if it meant he could hold his daughter in his arms that much sooner. For reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on or give voice to, Steve was craving home and _family_.

''That was a fast hour,'' Mark noted (not in the least bit wrathful).

''Forgot my watch, Doc,'' Steve shrugged. Mark couldn't help noticing how Steve's eyes were riveted immediately to Becca - and how the infant's head turned toward the sound of her Daddy's voice. No doubt about it; these two were _deeply_ bonded.

''We've been exploring the sights of the living room, the kitchen, the backyard,'' Mark told Steve, ''but it looks like she'd rather be in someone else's arms. Here, Daddy.''

''Well, hel-lo there, Bec-ca,'' Steve crooned. ''And what would Milady prefer for her supper?'' Mark smiled in amusement as Steve swept his daughter into the kitchen with a flourish of a dance move. ''Filet Mignon, perhaps? Salmon with mustard greens? Leftover chicken? How about if Daddy has the yucky leftover chicken and Becca has this yummy, delicious bottle instead?'' Steve put the bottle on the stove to warm and then poked his head into the living room. ''Doc, you were right. Jaime'll be home in a few hours - and in the meantime, thank you for helping me realize there's another very special young lady just waiting for my attention.''

* * *

Saturday, May 9

''Must be awfully frustrating, having to turn to someone else for permission before your wife can be saved...isn't it, Steve?'' Michael taunted when Steve turned to Oscar about Michael's request for freedom. ''Jaime's _life_ is in his hands - and in MY hands, of course - only one who can't save her...is YOU. I hope that doesn't make you feel like any less of a man!''

_If I wasn't turned down, you'd be orbiting Pluto right now, you S.O.B._, Steve thought, clenching his fists below the table. He forced his voice to show no anger. ''Michael, she's a new mother. Don't let Becca grow up never knowing her Mommy..._please_.'' The name slipped out in the emotion of the moment, without Steve intending to say it.

''Becca...'' Michael tried the name on for size, to see how it rolled off his tongue. ''So it's a girl. Got a picture? Of course you do! I'll bet there are at least half a dozen in your wallet. Let me see her.''

Steve sat frozen. One of the last things he wanted to do - _ever_ - was place his daughter into this man's hands. Not even a photograph. Still, Jaime's life was hanging in the balance and Michael sat staring at him expectantly. Steve dug out his wallet and handed a photo across the table.

''She's gorgeous,'' Michael announced, studying the photo closely. ''She has _my_ eyes, of course.''

Oscar's firm hand on his arm made Steve bite his tongue and kept him from an argument about Becca's parentage or - even worse - from losing his temper altogether at Michael's cruel jabs. ''Yes...she's beautiful,'' Steve agreed in a near-whisper. ''_Please_ don't let her grow up without her mother...''

Michael smirked again. ''If I didn't know better, it almost sounds like you're _begging_ for my help.'' Once again, he held his chin up in a cocky, expectant manner.

''You win, Michael,'' Steve conceded, knowing what his adversary wanted most to hear. ''I am _begging_ you..._please_ save her. _Please...don't let her die!_''

''That's better,'' Michael gloated. He turned to Oscar. ''Now, about those terms. My freedom. And I don't just want a 'conditional release' or the charges dropped. I want my record expunged. As in gone. As in - _it never happened_. Maybe by law, that can't be done but I've seen what the OSI is capable of. So, Goldman, you take care of this 'little matter' for me...and I'll not only save Jaime's life; I'll do what 99 percent of my profession would tell you is impossible - and the other .9 percent is still trying to figure out. I'll give you _your_ Jaime back. What I did 4 years ago, in regenerating her damaged brain cells - it's primitive compared to what I can do now. As for the rest of my terms, there will be no guards outside the OR doors and none following my every move through the hospital. Of course, none will be needed because I'm no longer an inmate or a convicted felon. I'm as clear as any of you, with full run of the hospital and to treat my patient. And once she's alive and alert again, Jaime _will_ know who saved her - who gave her her life back.''

As distasteful as those terms were (and as the man himself was), Steve and Oscar had no choice. Even if half of what Marchetti claimed he could do was mere boasting, he could still work medical miracles if he chose to do so and...they needed him. _Jaime needed him._


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Saturday, May 9

Later, Steve would remember it as the last 'normal, everyday' moment before everything went haywire on them (again). Waltzing around the kitchen singing made-up lyrics with a newly-invented melody to an infant wearing only a towel and a diaper (at four in the morning) might veer into the abnormal for most - but for Steve it was a moment he knew enough to cherish, even as he was living it.

Then the phone rang...

* * *

Michael walked back through the doors of National Medical without feeling the sense of triumph he'd expected after hammering out such a sweet deal. The majority of the staff had apparently not been apprised of his pending arrival and when they backed away it wasn't out of respect or deference; it was out of _fear_. How had things gone so wrong? Just over a year ago, he'd been at the pinnacle of his career - respected as a pioneer and a trailblazer, with the good fortune to be entertaining the possibility of winning back the only woman he'd ever allowed himself the time to love. Now, the sight of his own staff averting their eyes and shying away from him brought his new reality slamming home far more brutally than even prison had. This was what he had become now...what he'd made himself into...a _monster_.

One last time, though, he was still a _surgeon_.

* * *

Mark found Oscar behind Rudy's desk at National, his worry lines deepening into crevices and the veins bulging angrily in his neck. ''Looks like I got here just in time,'' Mark noted.

''I just freed a multiple - and potentially violent - felon. One of my best operatives is about to go under his knife and one of my best friends has to find a way to deal with that. How was your day?'' Oscar snapped. ''I'm sorry,'' he backtracked. ''You didn't deserve that. Steve is with Jaime, while Michael consults with Corinth.''

Mark nodded. ''I know. How are _you_ doing?''

''Don't ask.''

''I just did,'' Mark countered. ''How bad was it - going to see Marchetti? Did he ask for what you'd feared he might?''

''His freedom? Of course - and worse, besides. He wanted his record expunged. All traces gone.''

''Did you...?''

''There was nothing else I _could_ do,'' Oscar said quietly, wishing (again) that the final decision could've been anyone else's. ''Two physicians on the East Coast could've been called in - one from New York or the other from Boston - but...''

''But Jaime doesn't have that kind of time,'' Mark concluded.

''And they both did their research _under_ Marchetti. Up until a year ago, the man was brilliant,'' Oscar marveled. ''Maybe there was just too much on his plate.''

''It takes more than that,'' Mark told him gently. ''But speaking of plates, yours is overflowing...isn't it? You were the one who had to call Steve - and then take him to see Michael.''

''I would've gone to the prison alone,'' Oscar explained. ''I wish I had; Marchetti really turned the screws. I'm...still not sure we did the right thing,'' he admitted.

''Better to let Jaime die?'' Mark asked hypothetically. ''Of course not; you did what you had to do.''

''He's being watched, even though he doesn't realize it. My best teams just became orderlies and housekeepers for the duration of Marchetti's time here. He's lucky; if this were the NSB, agreement or no agreement there'd likely be a sniper outside waiting to pick him off as soon as he'd performed the operation and stepped outside for fresh air. Still, how will Jaime feel when she wakes up and finds the man who _raped_ her - and tried to kill her, more than once - at her bedside, tending to her again? What about...Becca? She needs to be with at least one parent, the parent she has left at this point - but is she _safe_ here, with Marchetti thinking she might be his? And...Rudy. How will Rudy react when he finds out what I gave permission to have happen here - and who I allowed _into_ his hospital?''

Mark had never seen Oscar this close to distraught. ''No wonder you look so weighed down and buried,'' he remarked. ''Let's peel the layers away one at a time, as needed, instead of trying to take a huge bite of a bitter onion. First - where is Rudy? I can't seem to find any information on his condition and he doesn't even appear to be a patient here.''

''Because he isn't,'' Oscar told him. ''He's in the Coronary Care Unit over at Clayton Memorial. Last word was that he's no longer comatose -''

''Well, that's good news.''

Oscar nodded. ''It is...unless he finds out what's going on here at 'his' hospital...his 'baby'. The shock alone might kill him.''

* * *

Michael's initial examination of his patient was _not_ encouraging. Jaime could no longer open her eyes or blink them on command; they only flew open (occasionally) in response to external stimuli. She was no longer making even the most basic, primal movements and the only sounds she uttered were low, soft moans of deep pain. Her Glasgow Score - '8' when they'd brought her in - had plummeted to a '5'. Jaime was dying.

_Time to work the magic, Michael_, he told himself. He only hoped he still could.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Steve didn't want to talk to Mark, to Oscar - or to anybody. He'd specifically sought out the tiny vestments room off of the hospital chapel so he could gather his thoughts - by himself - and not have to voice them to anyone, at least for a little while. Becca was with the nurses who knew her best (her 'favorites' out of the rotation) and Jaime was about to go under the knife of the same man who had once held a gun to her head. Steve was terrified, angry and nearly overwrought with grief; healthy or not, he just wanted to be _alone_, if only for a few minutes.

The voice that sought him out was probably the last one on the planet he wanted - or expected - to hear. ''Steve? One of the nurses saw you come in. We need to talk.''

_Michael._ Steve's first instinct was anger. Had Michael really just come looking for him to taunt and torment him some more, while Jaime needed his help so desperately? Then fear struck him like an icy knife straight through his heart. If he was here instead of in OR-1, something was terribly wrong. ''She's dead...isn't she?'' Steve asked, without turning around. ''Jaime's...dead...''

''No,'' Michael hurried to try and explain. ''I won't lie to you; Jaime's in worse shape than when they brought her in but -''

''But then...shouldn't you be with her? Getting her ready for...whatever it is you do?''

''Corinth, his team and my team are doing the initial prep work; they're fully capable. I made sure of it, or I wouldn't be here.''

Steve's emotions swung back to fierce anger. ''Why _are_ you here, Michael?'' he seethed. ''Did you come up with a little more salt you wanted to rub in my wounds? Just needed to get in one more dig?''

''No.''

Steve wondered if there was a scalpel about to be firmly planted in his back. He still couldn't bring himself to turn around, but his eyes scanned the room for anything he might use to defend himself, if need be.

''The lamp might be most effective,'' Michael told him quietly, ''but you don't need it. I'm not here to make threats or even throw more insults your way. Do you have any questions for me, before I get started in there?''

Steve had a _hell_ of a lot of questions (and more than a few things to say) but most of them weren't about Jaime's current condition or her surgery - and this simply wasn't the time or the place. Finally, he turned around. The effect - the outward change in Michael - was startling. If Steve hadn't known better, he'd have sworn he was looking at the physician - the _surgeon_ - who'd saved Jaime's life (and his own) less than two years earlier, instead of someone who'd worn a prison jumpsuit only that morning.

As difficult as it was (for both of them), Michael met Steve's eyes without flinching. ''I'll do my best for her; I want you to know that,'' he told Steve. ''What I said this morning...it has no bearing when I step into that OR. I'm not going in there to hurt Jaime - or you.''

''I appreciate...that you're here,'' Steve said with great difficulty. Mudslinging, anger, hatred...they could come later (and probably would). _Jaime_ was all that mattered now. In the most incongruous setting possible, given what had happened between them, surgeon and frantic husband sat down in the chapel and began to talk. Michael explained that Jaime's vital signs were low - dangerously low - but that was to be expected, given what had happened to her. The fact that she'd been able to hear and respond to at least the simple command to blink was encouraging, even though that response had gradually faded away as she'd reached the OR.

The bullet had indeed been shielded from the interior of her brain by the largest bionic component in her head; a small blessing, but it had likely saved her life. Michael went on to tell Steve that although there had been clear tissue damage and probably severe concussive injury to the area directly surrounding the component, there was plenty of reason to remain hopeful. The brain tissue that couldn't be saved could most likely be regenerated. He had made great strides in his research, even since Jaime's original regeneration surgery. The major portion of repair and reconstruction (and yes, regeneration) would come later (but still in the very near future). Today, he would save her life and enable her to at least wake fully conscious, aware and able to speak - and hold her daughter in her arms. These were his goals...and when Michael Marchetti set out with a goal, he never fell short. Even Steve had to acknowledge that (to himself, at least).

Before Michael left the chapel to head back into OR-1, the surgeon and the husband awkwardly but firmly shook hands.

* * *

Rudy was too sick to get out of bed...but just strong enough to be cantankerous. Physicians often make the worst patients and that was definitely proving to be the case here. Trouble was, his instincts were _screaming_. Something was going on at his hospital or with Steve or Jaime because suddenly no one was quite meeting his eyes and his questions about why he couldn't be transferred 'home' were being passed over...and going unanswered. He'd had cardiac _incidents_ before and been treated quite successfully at National Medical. What was going on that they didn't want him to know about? Their avoidance made him all the more determined to _find out_.

* * *

Oscar sat up in the theater for OR-1 long enough to see Michael make his way in and step up to the table beside Jaime - then (like it or not) he still had a job to do. Too many jobs to begin to count, actually, but like Mark had suggested, Oscar would approach just one step at a time, in order of urgency. The hospital, with Rudy out of commission and off the grounds entirely, was on Oscar's shoulders but seemed for the moment to be running smoothly. Steve was in the nursery, apparently needing the closeness to Jaime that holding their daughter could at least start to bring him; Mark hovered close to Steve's side. There was nothing Oscar could do to help his friends...except his own job.

The most urgent matter that Oscar could attend to, that kept him from feeling completely helpless himself, was that there was a shooter out there. He had just sat down behind Rudy's desk to try and collect his thoughts and shift gears when the report from Ballistics was delivered by OSI messenger, much sooner than he'd expected. A single (mangled) bullet had been discovered on the carpet when the medics had lifted Jaime onto the stretcher - and the tests had been completed. Oscar scanned the report and then called Ballistics himself to ensure there'd been no mistake. There hadn't. The tests came back so rapidly because the bullet was quite easily identifiable.

Jaime had been shot with a Government-issued service weapon.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Oscar's head swam with possibilities, each worse than the last. No OSI or NSB service weapons had been reported stolen but there were so many out there that anyone who worked under Jack Hansen (or himself) could be a suspect; at this point, no one was cleared. There was a traitor in their midst - someone selling their secrets to the highest bidder, who had cold-bloodedly stood directly in front of Jaime and shot her in the head when she came too close to uncovering the truth. She would obviously have seen her potential assassin. Did she know who it was; had she recognized them? And would she ever be able to tell them?

* * *

Michael could feel the eyes in the OR on him in a way they'd never been before. It wasn't good...but he couldn't let it throw him. He needed their focus and concentration where his was - on the patient lying so near death in front of them. She was no longer the woman he'd been in love with and he didn't see the woman he'd brutalized either; lying before him was someone who desperately needed his help and he focused every bit of his attention and ability on that. The curious (and somewhat doubtful) looks on the faces of his team gradually shared his focus and determination as they saw he was once again (at least for now) a _surgeon_...and still the best in his field.

* * *

Steve couldn't bear to sit up in the OR theater - and pacing the floor outside the big double doors was agonizing. There would be no news for probably many hours, so he found himself drawn back to the nursery...and Becca. When he scooped her from her crib, she cooed at him and (even though he knew it was too early for it to be _real_) Steve could've sworn that she _smiled_. It soothed him.

''Mama's gonna be alright, Peanut,'' he told her (still trying to convince himself). ''She'll be singing to you again before you know it.'' He thought of the island where Becca had been conceived, and of the many hours he and Jaime had spent there, quietly luxuriating in just being _together_. He tried to focus on that, on how beautiful she'd looked with the sun reflecting off of the brilliant white sand to light up her face, her hair, her eyes...instead of thinking of the way the man who'd tried to kill her now held her life in his hands.

''Feel like talking?'' Mark asked quietly from his spot against the wall.

''Not really.'' Steve's eyes never left his daughter's face. Amidst all of the ugliness, fear, anger and pain that threatened to close in on him, Becca represented _hope_.

* * *

''You need to calm down before you give yourself a _real_ heart attack,'' Rudy's cardiologist told him gently.

''Calm down?'' Weak as he was, Rudy's nostrils flared with indignation at the thought. He couldn't reach Oscar or Mark Conrad by phone to quiet the feeling that something was _wrong_. ''When no one seems to be able to answer a simple page?'' he fretted. ''I'm not comatose, I'm not unconscious and I am certainly not feeble. What's going on that no one wants me to know about?''

''What's going on...is that you need to _rest_,'' his doctor insisted.

''I'll rest when I'm dead. And that's a long way off, thank you! I need to get someone from National on the phone or I need a transfer over there - one or the other - and I need it now!''

* * *

''Brilliant work in there,'' Corinth told Michael as they both accepted a mug of coffee and sank wearily onto stools to rest for a few brief minutes.

''Thanks; the hard part is still ahead though.''

Corinth nodded. Michael was right, of course, but for someone who hadn't even set foot in a hospital for many months, he had already proven he was still miles ahead of anyone else. ''You've held off brain swelling; that's huge.''

''She's far from stable though,'' Michael sighed. The bullet had done more damage than initial appearances had indicated. Once inside Jaime's head, Michael had made the decision to remove the bionic components entirely, to allow her injured brain a little more room and hopefully avoid removal of a portion of her skull. Then he had frozen, cauterized, irrigated and medicated the surviving tissue and kept her alive when by all rights and appearances (and standard medical knowledge and practice) she should have died on the table. When they went back in, in a few more minutes, the initial reconstruction would begin. Jaime would then have to be assessed, both before and after she woke up, before regeneration would proceed.

Given her traumatic history with Michael, it had already been decided that Corinth would treat Jaime while she was awake, for at least the foreseeable future, with instructions from Michael as to what specifically to watch for. Michael would examine his patient only at night or while she was sedated, to hopefully lessen the trauma she might suffer, It pained Michael terribly to know that his own behavior had necessitated these precautions. He still didn't understand where _that_ part of him had come from! Sitting here in surgical scrubs, having kept an unstable and critically wounded patient alive and preparing to take her in a direction that most of medical science would still not believe possible..._this_ was who he really was.

- - - - -


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

''I'm sorry; could you repeat that?'' Rudy demanded. He'd finally thought to call the ICU and now had the information he'd sought. _Had they all lost their collective minds?!_ ''I need a transfer to National - and I need it NOW,'' he told the cardiologist. ''If you won't take care of that, I'll check out of here AMA and go there myself!''

Within the hour (and at the same time Jaime was being settled in the ICU, Rudy was finally on his way back to 'his' hospital.

* * *

''I'll keep her sedated for a few days,'' Michael explained to Steve (who had Mark by his side for support), ''to try and ward off brain swelling. Jaime is stable for now, but swelling could still be fatal. We'll be keeping a close eye.''

Steve nodded...and shook Michael's hand. ''Thank you,'' he said simply. Michael's previous conduct had not been forgotten - or forgiven - but for the moment this was the man who had saved Jaime's life. ''Can I see her now?''

''Soon,'' Michael promised. ''They're still getting her settled into the ICU. You could move the baby back down there from the third floor to make things easier,'' he suggested. At Steve's questioning glance, he went on. ''Yes, I know she's here; I won't bother her. My concern is with my patient now.''

Steve didn't know whether to believe him or not. While Michael retired to his makeshift office, Steve headed up to the third floor - and his daughter - with Mark by his side. There was already a second nursery set up in the ICU unit where Becca had spent the first weeks of her life, right next door to the cubicle where Jaime was now being moved...but Steve was torn.

''I just...don't trust him,'' he told Mark.

''Of course you don't,'' Mark acknowledged. ''But whatever his motives, he does have a point. You can't be running back and forth between floors. We could put a few extra guards in nurses' uniforms; whatever you need to feel safe.''

''Our agreement with him said no guards...but he meant no guards watching _him_, following him around. Michael can't possibly think I'll leave Jaime and Becca unguarded...''

''And even with both of them on the same floor, right next to each other, you can't be in two places at once.''

Yes, Michael had just given Jaime back to him...but it was only under the condition of his own freedom. The uppermost thought in Steve's mind as he carried his daughter downstairs was _If he hurts Jaime again - or if he so much as touches Becca - I swear to God I'll kill him..._! Then Steve had to wonder...given what Michael had just done, what did his own murderous thoughts say about him...? He crushed them down, swallowed them, forced them away as he placed Becca in the glass cubicle's waiting crib and moved next door where he could finally sit with his wife. Mark followed behind at a respectful (but still vigilant) distance. Steve would need to sort through at least some of his anger, confusion and fear on his own for now (while he sat at Jaime's bedside), but the therapist would remain _right there_ - ready and available when needed.

Jaime looked like a china doll, fragile, with death-white skin that was nearly translucent. Steve was almost afraid to touch her. Jaime's hand was limp when he took it in his own. There were so many memories, painful now but still with the ability to make him smile.

_The kindergartner in pigtails_ and how he'd stepped in to protect her from bullies, when it'd turned out she was feisty enough to deal with them on her own. He prayed that she still had some of that same fight (and stubbornness) left within her.

_The skinny 'beanpole' of a freshman_ who had batted tennis balls with him - and made the already-full Varsity team. Did Jaime still have that strength and determination; was she still that feisty? She _had_ to be!

_The look in her eyes when they'd fallen in love_. How would Jaime feel if she found out her life had been - and for awhile, would continue to be - in Michael's hands...?

* * *

''Oscar, what the Holy Hell have you done?'' Rudy fumed indignantly. He sank into a chair and Oscar could see that his friend was alarmingly weak, but he swore he could almost see smoke coming from Rudy's ears. He'd been warned that the doctor was on his way...still, for some reason, he hadn't quite expected _this_.

''There was no other choice but to -'' Oscar began.

Rudy was having _none_ of it! ''Michael Marchetti - _in my hospital_?! How could you even entertain the thought?''

''I requested him,'' Corinth explained from the corner (where he'd been briefing Oscar). ''Jaime needed him; she still does. If you take a look at her initial tests and admission report -''

''Oh believe me - I will! Even if I could set aside the tiny little fact that he could've killed me, the other five counts of Attempted Murder he was in prison for, not to mention that _library_ of felonies - _violent_ felonies, I might remind you - were because of what he did to _Jaime_! What's to stop him from disguising another attempt as 'therapy'...and finishing the job?''

* * *

Steve had been dozing lightly in the chair beside the bed, for the very first time since Jaime had been shot - but Michael's presence in the cubicle brought him instantly back to full alertness. As much as it turned his stomach to see Jaime's rapist with his hands on her, Steve moved to a seat on the other side of the room to allow Marchetti full access. He might not recognize if a medical touch turned ominous and threatening...but Mark would. Steve hoped that their mere presence would help keep Jaime safe.

He needn't have worried. He could see that Michael's touch was carefully gentle. He performed the necessary checks of Jaime's vital signs, her incisions and her monitors, made some notes and then left the cubicle. When Michael returned to his makeshift office...Rudy was waiting for him.

- - - - -


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Michael almost turned around when he saw who was waiting for him but he knew he'd have to face his former mentor eventually...and it might as well be now. ''Oscar tells me you did excellent work in there,'' Rudy said, very quietly.

''Thank you. Rudy, I -''

''I'm not finished.'' (Already, his voice was beginning to rise.) ''You do realize that if I'd been here, you'd never have set foot in this hospital, much less been allowed near a patient - and especially not Jaime!''

''You'd have preferred to let her die?''

''Don't be so damn cocky, Michael! Corinth could've kept her alive long enough for help to get here from the East Coast.''

Michael shook his head. ''_Alive_ would've been the only scenario left by the time Albright or Savidge could've reached her. You want more than that for Jaime...don't you? I know Steve does. Once Jaime is a little stronger, the possibility exists that she can return to a fully normal life - no, make that a _probability_ - and I intend to give that to her. You, of all people, know I can do that! With the others, her future is still a 'maybe'.''

Rudy could feel his anger threatening to boil over...and he took several calming breaths. This..._person_...was not worth working himself into a full-fledged heart attack over! ''Of course you're _capable_,'' he acknowledged. ''But if it had been up to me, you'd be consulting from many miles away - and not here, in MY hospital.''

''_Consulting_ isn't enough in this case! And it certainly wouldn't have helped Jaime a few hours ago!'' Michael insisted. ''Look, I understand your reluctance but -''

''Reluctance? _Reluctance_?! You tried to _kill_ me, Michael! And you almost killed the very patient Oscar is permitting you to work on!''

''Oscar would like to see her wake up fully alert, to where she can remember who shot her - and identify them - and she _will_!'' Michael could see that Rudy was suddenly growing paler and slightly ashen before his eyes. ''Please calm down,'' he told Rudy, ''for your own sake. I deserve everything you have to throw at me - but you're endangering your health.''

''Did you know I defended you to Oscar - and to Steve?'' Rudy told Michael with the anger of betrayal in his eyes. ''Told them, before any of us knew what you really were, that you could set aside your feelings and be trusted around Jaime. They trusted my words and my judgment enough that they didn't demand you be sent to Colorado. And look what it got them - and what it got _Jaime_!'' He had to stop when breathlessness and _pain_ began to overtake him.

''Where's your nitro?'' Michael asked quickly. ''Do you have any with you?'' Rudy shook his head. Michael automatically shifted gears once again, from cocky, angry arrogance to quiet efficiency as though the surgeon in him had never been on 'hiatus' for a year. He picked up the phone receiver and dialed into the hospital switchboard, reaching the ER (just down the hall and closer than the hospital pharmacy)...identifying himself as _Doctor Marchetti_ (quite the change from an Inmate Number) and requesting Nitro tablets immediately.

Once Rudy's potential crisis had been averted, Michael had seen to it that he was safely ensconced in a room upstairs - away from the worst of the facility's chaos, so he could rest quietly. He'd also administered valium, then remained with the older doctor until a team had arrived to check him over from head to toe and his own cardiologist had been notified of his precise whereabouts, then he headed back downstairs to his own patient.

Michael's route to Jaime's cubicle took him past the nursery where Becca was staying. He could see through the glass that Steve was finally dozing off again in the chair next to his wife and he was relieved; Steve needed that so desperately. Michael couldn't resist a look at the infant he still believed was his...through the glass from the hallway only. What was left of his soul flooded with regret - and then a sharp pain coursed through his head and regret was replaced by another emotion, one he had to struggle to force away: _fury_. It was a feeling he'd come to associate with being a _prisoner_ (and out of control), someone (and something) he never intended to be, ever again. For now, his intent was stronger than whatever his more primal emotions were trying to do to him: Michael would see to it that things remained that way.

Becca was _beautiful_. His heart filled with longing to go inside, to hold her in his arms...but he didn't dare. He knew those were no interns busying themselves inside her cubicle and he didn't begrudge Steve the need to keep guards around the child; rather, he understood completely. He didn't have a very good view from where he stood, but from the picture he'd seen at the prison, the child looked just like her mother, except with (Michael was certain) his eyes. She should've been conceived the usual, loving way...and she very nearly could have been, except at the crucial time for her to make a choice, Jaime had chosen _Steve_.

He turned in to Jaime's cubicle where Mark was watching (and had likely just seen everything) from his far corner of the room. Steve's sixth sense awakened him instantly but this time he stayed where he was, still wiping the sleep from his eyes as he watched Michael's every movement.

''Only minor swelling,'' Michael told both men. ''That's to be expected and so far it's well contained within her skull. We'll keep a close eye throughout the rest of the day and overnight - and if all goes well, we can start to wake her tomorrow for a more thorough assessment. She'll still be kept sedated for the majority of the time until she's ready for the initial cell regeneration...but we'll be able to see, even from the outset when she first wakes, how successful we've been so far. So everything looks good - and we're ahead of schedule. Excellent news.''

Michael adjusted the flow of medicines through Jaime's IV tube, nodded respectfully to both men as well as to the 'nurse' who stood by the window. ''I'll check back again in an hour,'' he told them all.

* * *

Oscar was no further along in his investigation than he'd been nearly 36 hours earlier, when the Ballistics report had been delivered. He sighed in frustration and accidentally knocked the glasses from his face when he rubbed the bridge of his nose to massage away the stress headache. Luckily, there was a back-up pair of glasses in his briefcase. 'Efficiency' was his middle name. The next morning, when it was hoped that Jaime might awaken, he and Russ would be in the cubicle. If Michael had worked a true miracle and Jaime was able to name her shooter, they'd both be there to witness it. If not, Russ would remain with Jaime while Oscar interviewed Steve about any potential enemies - old or new - within the Intelligence community, that he thought might be cold blooded enough to look a new mother in the eyes...and shoot her in the head.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Very early the next morning, once again under Steve's watchful eye, Michael removed the piggyback of sedation from Jaime's IV set-up. He'd explained to Steve and Mark (in a hallway conference, with his own back to the nursery cubicle) that he was leaving the painkillers in place - out of necessity, of course - and was only removing the drug that served no purpose _other than_ keeping her asleep. It was still too risky to keep her awake for longer than it would take for an initial assessment but it was important that they find out a few things as quickly as possible now. Could Jaime hear, understand and respond to simple commands - to blink, to move her left hand? Could she speak? It was quite possible that Jaime would initially experience at least some degree of aphasia, where the words got lost somewhere between her brain and her lips...where even her brain might not be giving her the correct words...or where she simply did not comprehend her surroundings at all. He reminded Steve that Corinth would be performing Jaime's waking studies (passing the detailed results along to him) and he would examine her only when Jaime was deeply asleep, under the effects of sedation.

Michael cautioned Steve that true understanding - and speech - might not return for a few more days, until after the first round of regeneration. One round might be all that was required but there would likely be at least two...and possibly several. ''But Jaime is not an experiment to me,'' Michael concluded. ''She's a _human being_...not a lab rat. My research is complete and if I had the slightest doubt about this treatment's efficacy _and_ its effectiveness, I wouldn't be putting Jaime on the operating table. You _will_ have your wife back.''

It was time for him to leave; he and Steve nodded their grudging (and temporary) respect to each other and Michael turned the care of his patient over to Corinth for the time being.

Nothing seemed to be happening. Corinth told Steve (in hushed tones, in the doorway) that it could take anywhere from 15 or 30 minutes to hours (or longer) for Jaime to awaken...if she was able. Steve could help his wife along, encourage her progression toward what they hoped would be true wakefulness, by talking softly to her and making repeated (or continuous) light, gentle contact. ''Verbal, physical or both,'' Corinth summed up. ''Try to keep up some form of contact as often and for as long as you can manage, even if it's 'only' holding her hand.''

While he wasn't normally one to 'talk a blue streak', Steve would do anything to help Jaime - _absolutely anything_, even pour his heart and soul into talking to her...in front of half a dozen people. Mark was still in his corner, sitting in mostly silent support. Corinth would be watching Jaime's monitors and assessing her (still unconscious) responses as he deemed necessary and although the two 'nurses' had moved to a more tactful spot in the hallway to allow Oscar a seat (and to give the cubicle's occupants just a little more privacy), they were still within earshot.

Steve focused his gaze on Jaime's face, willing her eyes to open and meet his, as he began - and kept up - a loving, heartfelt patter. There was the way they'd met, for starters. He verbally ticked off every item on his 3rd grade lunch tray, after he'd taken her dare and loaded it up. He'd consumed a hot dog, a hamburger, PB&J, potato chips, potato salad, fritos, an apple, a banana and the better part of a slice of chocolate cake before his stomach began to rebel. Stubbornly, ''Because I couldn't let a little kindergartner win'', he'd polished off the remnants...and soon regretted it. But (he reminded his wife now) he'd only 'ratted her out' a few years ago. Until then, his mother had thought he'd simply been a glutton by his own idea and his own choice.

He talked to her about what a spitfire she'd been, even at five years old...how (instead of flailing helplessly) she'd kicked at those bullies' kneecaps when they'd dared try to lift her by her pigtails and gotten herself released even as Steve had still been rushing across the playground to come to her aid!

Steve talked about the way she hadn't taken any guff - or accepted any ill-treatment - from him, either. He and Jaime had become fast friends, playing together nearly every day after school at his house or hers...but when she'd joyfully come bouncing up to him on the playground one day _during_ school and _in front of his friends_, he'd tried to take the 'cool' way out by telling her to go back to her blankie and bottle...even mocking her tears of hurt and anger with a loud 'WAH, WAH' as she'd run away from him...and all the way home from school. Steve reminded his wife that he'd run to her house right after school to apologize and (hopefully) to play...and his efforts at juvenile reconciliation were rewarded...by a bucket of sand dumped over his head.

Then...did he really see it? The slightest of smiles, passing fleetingly across Jaime's lips? He went with that, played off of what had gotten the reaction. ''Yeah, a _whole_ bucket of the stuff - and you packed it in there, too! You're must've been building _bricks_ before I got there, huh? So I guess you could really say that you hit me in the head with a _brick_, isn't that right Sweetheart?''

The smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but Steve was undeterred. He talked to Jaime about how they'd built their first treehouse together a few summers later...and Russ slid quietly into the cubicle, just inside the door, in time to hear how Steve had covered for Jaime later that same summer when she'd 'run away' from home and hid out up in the treehouse. He'd reached the part where he'd snuck food and a blanket up there to her when she was too stubborn to go home even at nightfall - and how she'd never known he snuck out of the house many times that night to make sure she was still safe. He'd taken her home in the morning, helping her to face a livid and terror-stricken pair of parents...when...suddenly...

_Jaime opened her eyes!_ She didn't blink though, when Steve leaned in to kiss her - or even when the same reaction was requested by Corinth. Jaime's eyes remained wide open but seemingly unaware, with no comprehension, as she slowly scanned the room. She 'saw' Corinth, Oscar, Mark and even Steve - with seemingly zero recognition. Then her eyes came to rest on Russ - and she gripped Steve's hand tightly. Jaime's eyes met her husband's with true recognition and something else..._urgency_. When she knew she had his attention, she turned her eyes to again look at Russ and then back at Steve. He could feel her fingers moving in his palm and, startled by the unexpected action, he looked down. When Jaime knew Steve had seen what she was trying to do, she turned her eyes again onto Russ.

In his palm, hidden by most of his hand from the view of the room, Jaime's fingers had formed into a 'gun'...and taken a 'shot'.

- - - - -


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Steve brushed the hair from Jaime's eyes with a tender touch and nodded; he understood (although her message confused him deeply).

''Jaime, can you blink your eyes for me?'' Corinth requested again. This time, she complied. ''Good. Now, squeeze Steve's hand...? Very good. I want you to blink if you know who I am.'' Jaime tore her gaze away from Steve, looked at the doctor...and blinked. ''Do you know where you are?'' Another blink. He held his index finger in front of her eyes and requested she focus on it and then follow it from side to side. Her reactions were slow...but there. It was enough for now. ''I'm going to give you something to help you rest,'' he told her, injecting the sedative into her IV line. Within minutes, Jaime was deeply asleep.

Steve motioned Oscar into the hallway and quickly filled him in on what Jaime had signaled to him. It was a mistake - it had to be - but they had no choice except to discuss it. An urgent, hurried meeting was arranged in Rudy's office (temporarily Oscar's) between Corinth, Mark Conrad, Steve and Oscar. Two guards (still disguised as interns although they were fooling no one) and an ICU nurse remained with Jaime. Because of what Jaime might or might not have been trying to tell them, Russ was sent on an errand to look into the possibility of Michael having paid someone to shoot her.

''We have to bear in mind that she's severely head-injured,'' Corinth offered, once Steve had filled everyone in. ''Michael's reconstruction aside, we don't know just how her brain functions - and specifically her memory - may have been affected.''

''There's just no way,'' Oscar thought out loud. ''Russ? No possible way in hell...''

''We have to look into it though,'' Steve pointed out quietly. ''You know that.''

''Of course we do,'' Oscar agreed. ''But maybe Jaime was trying to tell us something else; she _had_ to be! When Michael does his cell regeneration, will it make her verbal again?''

''The hope was that she'd wake up verbal...today,'' Corinth explained. ''Perhaps when we wake her again later, after I check her over, we can give her a few minutes alone with Steve; she might or might not be able to tell him something...''

* * *

With Steve and Mark temporarily gone from Jaime's cubicle (and thus unable to see what he was doing), Michael stopped on the way to check out his patient...and stepped into the nursery. He felt the eyes of the 'interns' and nurses upon him but as a full-fledged (albeit temporary) physician at the facility, he was still within his rights. The 'interns' moved quietly to either side of the door, to stop him if he tried to remove the infant...but he merely wanted (_needed_) a closer look.

Becca took his breath away. Michael couldn't keep himself from reaching into the crib, gently scooping her into his arms and holding her close...just for a moment. Before anyone interceded, he returned the baby to her crib and took a step back to show he had no wrong intentions. He had just stepped out of the nursery/cubicle's doorway when Steve rounded the corner.

He was on Michael faster than anyone could blink, grabbing the doctor's collar and pulling him to the other side of the hallway, away from the nursery. ''_Stay. Away. From. __MY__ daughter!_'' Steve growled through clenched teeth. He drew his fist back...and Mark spotted him and caught his arm just in time, pulling him away from the surgeon.

''He's not worth prison,'' Mark whispered in Steve's ear, ''and Jaime needs him.''

Steve shook him off...and glared threateningly at Michael. ''You're here to treat Jaime...and I'm grateful for that,'' he snarled. ''But if you go near my daughter again, I'll be the one in prison...for _murder_.''

Michael had already turned his back and headed into Jaime's cubicle. Steve caught up to him...just as Jaime unexpectedly opened her eyes. ''Steve...?'' she moaned plaintively.

''I'm right here, Sweetheart,'' Steve told her, rushing to take her hand and leaning over her so his face was the one in her line of vision while Michael hurriedly left the cubicle.

It was too late; she had seen him. Frightened tears burned on her cheeks as she struggled to find the words. ''Dreaming...?'' she asked, finally. ''Michael...he's not..._here_...is he?''

Mark stepped up to the other side of the bed. ''Jaime, do you know why you're here?'' he began. ''Do you remember what happened to you?''

''Shot...'' she whispered in a hoarse voice.

''That's right,'' Mark confirmed. ''Michael was brought here to help you, and -''

''Nooo...''

''Sweetheart,'' Steve soothed as she began to flail about in panic, ''you're alright. You're safe.''

''No...I...please no...don't let him...please...'' She closed her eyes in inconsolable terror as Corinth hurried in. He'd been summoned by Michael - and by the readings on the remote monitor. He took one look at his patient and rushed to sedate her. Jaime's vital signs were jumping erratically. Steve held her hand and gently caressed her cheek as the drug took effect. ''Keep...him...away...'' she pleaded as her eyelids fluttered closed.

They'd never gotten a chance to ask her about the shooter...


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_Keep him away_, Jaime had pleaded, when she caught a glimpse of Michael. Of course, they couldn't do that. No one, not even Michael himself, had intended for Jaime to see him there but his presence was absolutely essential. At Steve's insistence, Michael would stay out of her cubicle entirely, letting Corinth perform _all_ of the assessments...but Jaime's fate would still (by necessity) be in his hands once again when he performed his cell regeneration therapy. Should they keep that knowledge from her, now that she'd seen him? Was that fair...or was it the kindest thing they could do? Even Mark Conrad was struggling inwardly with the answer to that...

Oscar had some serious struggles of his own. By rights of the chain of command, while he was in charge of the hospital, Russ would normally be heading up the investigation into Jaime's shooting - but he was now a suspect. Or...was he? Should they take Jaime's word (or rather, the sign she had given) when she was fresh out of surgery and still not fully verbal? He'd asked Russ for his whereabouts at the time of the shooting, under the guise of 'asking everyone' - and naturally he'd answered that he'd been home in bed. It had been the middle of the night; where else would he be? Oscar prided himself on his ability to read people and Russ had seemed genuinely bewildered by the question...or rather, by the need for it. Jaime would have to be asked for clarification - as gently and carefully as possible - the next time she was awake...

Steve was torn between the need to remain at Jaime's side, to calm her if she should wake unexpectedly again and to be there when Corinth woke her up...and his other pressing need, which was to hunt Michael down and punch some sense into him. His lack of bionic strength wouldn't be a factor, given the intensity of his anger. He had learned from the nurses that yes, Michael had been inside Becca's cubicle - and he'd actually had the nerve to _pick her up_! The charges still hanging over his head were the only thing that kept Steve from teaching Michael a lesson he'd never forget. Jaime needed him _here_ - not in jail or prison - but he paced like a caged animal from one side of her cubicle to the other in an effort to contain himself. Mark watched him carefully, prepared now to stop him with a needle, if necessary. Maybe Oscar would overlook a show of temper, given the circumstances...but they simply couldn't take the chance.

Steve looked at Jaime, her head swathed in bandages as she lay in sedated slumber, trying to keep himself grounded and his anger in check. It didn't work. _Michael had put his hands on their daughter!_! With a rage too strong for words (and still trying mightily to contain himself), Steve slammed his right fist into the tray table that had been stashed over by the window. Under normal circumstances (for him) the metal table would've bent to the floor with the force of his blow...but this time, of course, it didn't.

''Did it help?'' Mark asked quietly.

''Not in the least,'' Steve admitted.

''Would you like to go down the hall and talk?'' Mark suggested.

Steve shook his head. ''I'm not gonna leave her,'' he insisted. If he angled himself just right, sitting in a chair by Jaime's bed, he could see her and still see Becca through the glass wall, since he'd demanded the more opaque divider wall be pushed back. ''I'm not gonna leave _them_!'' He sank into the chair to keep watch over the two most important people in his life.

* * *

Rudy was lying quietly in his bed while he mulled over what to do. He had so little control now; he'd have to rest and grow stronger so he could return to the helm of the hospital - and let Oscar return to focusing on OSI business, where he was sorely needed. He'd requested - and been granted - a look at Jaime's brain scans and test results. While the thought of Michael Marchetti even setting foot in his facility burned him to the core, Rudy had to admit to himself that the young surgeon had done brilliant work with the initial reconstruction...on a patient who by all rights shouldn't even be alive. The latest notes in her file indicated that Jaime was aware and even somewhat verbal when she'd been allowed to awaken. (The fact that she'd actually _seen_ Michael was _not_ among the written notes.) Grudgingly, Rudy could see that his former protege had already done what very few - if any - others would've been able to do and his knowledge and expertise would be vital in returning Jaime to a normal life.

* * *

A few hours later, it was _time_. Oscar accompanied Corinth on his next visit to wake Jaime - and Steve knew immediately why his boss was there. While he'd have much preferred she not be pressed about the shooting (and potentially traumatized further), whoever had tried to kill her was still out there and she was their best key to finding him. He still had his own doubts about her 'message' in his hand; maybe she'd just been badly confused upon first waking.

''Let me ask her,'' he requested...and Oscar nodded silently.

Jaime opened her eyes to see Steve smiling reassuringly at her and she managed a small, lopsided smile back at him. As long as he was there by her side, Michael wouldn't dare try anything...would he?

Corinth stepped closer, bringing Oscar with him. ''Jaime...'' he began, then waited until he her focus shifted to him. ''Do you know who this man is?''

''Oscar,'' she answered almost promptly.

''Sweetheart, he's here because I need to ask you a question,'' Steve told her, ''and he needs to hear the answer...if you can give it.''

Jaime squeezed his hand in fearful anticipation. ''O...k...'' she answered slowly.

''Do you remember who shot you?''

Jaime closed her eyes for a few seconds that were as agonizing to the men surrounding the bed as they were to her. When she opened them, she gave her answer in a soft, pain-filled voice.

''It was...Russ...he...shot me.''

* * *

She'd come from nearly halfway around the world for this and it was finally blossoming into fruition...slower than she would've liked, but it was _happening_. The Austin woman was supposed to die...but she still would. Anja (she'd changed her name from the hated Americanized 'Anna' more than a decade ago) would see to it. In the meantime, the OSI was in turmoil. It was satisfying...for now. _Soon, though,_ she promised herself. _It will __all__ happen soon enough._


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

''I need to talk to Michael,'' Steve announced when everyone else but Mark had left Jaime's cubicle.

''I don't think that's wise,'' the therapist told him.

''You can come along and make sure I 'behave myself'. Hell, Oscar can be there for all I care! But Michael and I need to get a few things straight; I won't touch him. At least...I'll try not to.''

''Which is precisely what I'm worried about. There are still charges hanging over your head. You could end up in prison while he's walking around free. I could talk to him for you,'' Mark offered. ''Just tell me what you need to be said.''

''Nope. I have to do this myself. I want him to see my face...so he knows I'm not just blowing smoke.''

* * *

It was one of the hardest things he'd ever have to do. Oscar would have to take his right-hand man into custody...if he could find him. The magnitude of Jaime's accusation staggered him - but he had to take her at her word. He would handle this himself, once his best teams tracked Russ down...because suddenly the man Oscar had often trusted to back him up with their very lives was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Steve found him at the nurses' desk, intently watching the read-outs from Jaime's remote monitors. ''We need to talk, Michael,'' he requested as calmly as he could manage (with Mark right at his elbow to make sure he stayed that way).

''My office?'' Michael suggested. Steve followed him silently, surprised the man felt safe enough (or cocky enough) to take this out of the public eye. Mark put his hand on the office door, telling both of them (without the need for words) that it would remain open.

''You didn't just glance at Becca from the doorway,'' Steve seethed quietly. ''You didn't even walk over to the crib and look at her from there. _You put your hands on __my__ daughter - and you picked her up!_''

''I don't think she's your daughter,'' Michael told him.

''Guess what? She is - and I can prove it! But that's beside the point. You're here to treat my wife, not to spend 'quality time' in the nursery! If you ever so much as set foot in there again, you'll wish you hadn't...and if you have the balls to lay another finger on her, I swear to God I'll kill you!''

''She's...not my daughter?''

''No. No, she isn't! With all of your fancy degrees, your knowledge and your research, I'd imagine you've at least heard of DNA?'' Steve posed.

''Of course.''

''Well, guess what? But like I said, that's almost beside the point. You're here to treat my wife. Stay out of the nursery! And while we're at it, stay away from Jaime until it's time for you to 'work your magic'.''

''That might not be possible,'' Michael explained. ''Depending on her condition, it might be irresponsible for me to stay away entirely.''

''If that proves to be true, we'll deal with it then,'' Steve insisted. ''But if any harms comes to my wife at your hands, you'll be in the next stratosphere - and I won't need bionics to do it, either!''

* * *

''_Find him!_'' Oscar barked into the phone...just as Russ walked calmly into the office.

''Michael had no visitors other than Reinert - until you went to see him, that is,'' Russ announced. ''No large withdrawals or deposits of cash, either; Michael didn't do it.''

''I know,'' Oscar told him.

''You have a new lead, then?''

''Unfortunately...I do.'' Oscar said grimly. Security had taken their place in the doorway, blocking any attempt Russ might make to get away. ''_You_ are in formal and official custody, pending investigation for Attempted Murder.''

''I'm..._what?_''

''Put your hands on the desk so Security can take your service weapon.''

''Oscar - that's insane!'' Russ sputtered. ''I don't know who's been feeding you false information, but -''

''You're refusing to cooperate, then?''

''I know how this works! You get me down there - with my cooperation - and then you arrest me...correct? I think I have the right to know why you're doing this!''

''At this point, no you don't,'' Oscar told him.

''You want my weapon that badly? I don't understand this...but here you go.'' Russ reached into his jacket - and Security was immediately upon him, forcing his arms behind his back.

''Let me,'' Oscar told them, placing his own set of handcuffs around the wrists of his right-hand man. ''Mark Russell...now you're under arrest.''

* * *

Just over an hour later, Anja was scowling. By now, she should have received word that the Austin woman had been disposed of. Something was wrong - but no matter. She would fix it. She placed a call to OSI-HQ in Los Angeles, intending to shore up his resolve...but there was no answer. Still, she was undeterred. She would simply have to use another tactic.

Very soon thereafter, on the bench in The Hole (where he'd been quietly awaiting his attorney), Russ began to struggle violently.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Michael sat at his desk trying to collect himself while Steve returned to his wife's bedside. The baby wasn't his, after all and in a strange way, Michael was glad...and relieved. Jaime had been through too much already - quite a lot of it at his hand - and she didn't need his presence in her life for the next 18 years (and beyond). He was realistic enough to know that. It had taken walking back through the doors of National with a physician's stance for him to truly realize the magnitude of what he'd done...and how the after-effects would torture Jaime for a very long time. He wasn't sure how he could even begin to live with that but at least he could give her a 'normal' life back. Without him, even her very survival might still be in question. In his hands, Michael knew, she stood every chance of becoming whole again.

He ignored the sudden, shooting headache and the rage that went along with it - simply pushed it aside. He could do that now. In prison, he'd had nothing else to focus on but here he had other, more important things uppermost in his mind...like _healing_ and the _Hippocratic Oath_. He had to learn to face the fact that the fury he'd unleashed on Jaime had begun here, in this very hospital - and maybe he would even speak to Mark Conrad about that, when he was ready - but for now, his intent had shifted from _harm_ to the other side of the spectrum..._healing_. His hands had been _healing_ hands for most of his adult life; he would see to it that they were never used for any other purpose, ever again.

So Steve's bionics had been turned down. Michael idly wondered when...and why. It was immaterial to him now, as he had no intention of doing Jaime any further harm...but he was definitely curious. Had it been necessitated by a health problem - or possibly by Austin's temper flaring out of control? Maybe he'd told Goldman off once too often; he'd always had a bit of a rebellious streak. The three people who knew the reason (Steve, Oscar and Rudy) would _never_ let him in on it...and truth be told, he didn't care enough to concern himself with probing the issue.

* * *

''Feel better?'' Mark asked as he and Steve headed back down the hallway.

''Maybe. For now.''

''Sure beats putting your fist through a table.''

''Couldn't do that if I wanted to, Doc,'' Steve reminded him.

Mark sighed. He still had his work cut out for him with this very stubborn patient...but at least they had made some progress. Jaime was still sleeping soundly when Steve took his place beside her and Mark took his usual seat, where he would sit in silent support until one or the other of his patients needed him.

* * *

Russ hollered insistently for the guard. He wasn't sure why Oscar had put him here - there was NO evidence, since he'd been asleep in his bed at home! But as the headache stabbed through his brain like a red-hot knife, he knew one thing for certain: he had to _Get! Out!_ He beat both fists on the metal bench in frustration and then howled in pain. He blinked rapidly as the intense pain from his hands brought him back to reality. Why in the hell had he just done that? He had absolutely no idea...

* * *

Corinth returned to Jaime's room a few minutes ahead of schedule and motioned Steve and Mark into the hallway. He had news that he blurted out because there was no way to soften it. ''Mark Russell is in the ER,'' he told them. ''He just fractured both of his wrists...and more than a few fingers. They're putting him out as we speak, so he's no threat to Jaime - but I thought you'd want to know.''

''Jack Hansen must be spitting nails,'' Steve speculated.

''He is - and so I am,'' Oscar asserted, joining them. He turned to Corinth. ''Is there any chance Michael's cell regeneration could be pushed up a day - or even two? And what are the chances it will make Jaime fully verbal again?''

''By one day...possibly,'' Corinth acknowledged. ''Provided she continues to improve in the meantime. But any more than that is just too risky.''

''We really need her fully verbal as soon as possible,'' Oscar stated flatly.

''We,'' Steve asked with quiet anger, ''or you? And I can't believe you'd even consider asking him to endanger Jaime's health - and her _life_ - like that!''

''Of course I don't want to jeopardize her in any way,'' Oscar hurried to explain, ''but if the surgery can be moved up _safely_, we really need to do that. And yes Pal, you need it too. I'm certain you want Jaime's shooter brought to justice as soon as possible. I'm not sure what Russ is trying to pull with this little stunt of his, but a statement from Jaime will make these charges stick when we take him before a judge. Otherwise...we have nothing.''

''We have the statement she's already given,'' Steve told him emphatically. ''Witnessed by you, no less - that Russ is the one who shot her. I have trouble picturing it too...but she seemed quite clear about it. While you'd like to have more -''

''I _have to_ have more!''

Corinth stepped between them and into the cubicle. They could argue it out as much as they needed to...but meanwhile he would check on his patient. Steve followed him, cutting his discussion with Oscar short (for now) because he had every intention of always being the first face Jaime saw when they woke her from sedation. He wasn't about to go back on that now. Oscar could wait...for the rest of the 'discussion'...and definitely for Jaime to have her surgery (until it could be deemed as safe as humanly possible). Steve still hoped that in Michael's hands, she would truly be safe but since there was no other possible choice, no one else performing the regeneration to the extent that Michael could, Steve had to place his trust - and Jaime's life - in his hands.

* * *

Anja waited almost-patiently for word from her contact and when it came, she grinned with satisfaction. Everything was going precisely as she'd re-envisioned it (once Plan A had failed). They had put him out...but that was no challenge. He'd broken through heavy sedation before, under a far more _inferior_ device; he was the ideal subject for what she had planned...


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Michael was the first to realize what was happening. It hit him with the next sharp, blinding headache and the rage he barely managed to contain. The sudden urge - the _compulsion_ - to do irrevocable bodily harm was strong but he fought it off by remembering where he was and who he was. He was a _surgeon_ and a _scientist_. He knew he had to get help, to let others know what was going on, before he had to hold Jaime's life in his hands on that operating table.

The first person he sought out was Oscar. He knew he wouldn't be well received but he hoped the OSI boss would keep an open mind, since Michael knew he was once again in danger of losing his own. ''Got a few minutes?'' he asked gravely.

Oscar barely glanced up from the reports in front of him. ''You already got what you wanted from me; you have your freedom. I don't think there's anything more we need to discuss.''

Michael wouldn't be passed off that easily. This was _urgent_. Midway through his explanation he finally had Oscar's full attention...but for the wrong reasons.

''Mind control?'' Oscar scoffed. ''You're not back to that tired old excuse, are you? Come on, Michael; you were already caught faking it...and you don't 'need' it now. Your record has already been cleared.''

''This isn't about my record anymore!'' Michael insisted. ''And maybe 'faking it' was another instruction. Maybe it all was. I don't know...but this needs to be looked at. It could explain why Russ did what he did. He has no other motive -''

''Except maybe money - or personal power. Perhaps both. But mind control? Not in the ballpark anymore. Grant and Graham are dead, Michael. Get over yourself and get back to the work you were brought here to do.'' He turned back to his own work, effectively dismissing the young doctor who could see he'd have to turn elsewhere for help...to the person who probably wanted to see him even less than Oscar did.

* * *

Rudy's cardiologist and the guard at his door were having none of it. ''I _need_ to see him!'' Michael persisted. ''I know his health is fragile. I'll tread as lightly as I can...but this is urgent!''

''Come back in a few days and we'll talk about it,'' Rudy's doctor said firmly.

''_A few days_ might be too late!''

''Let him in,'' Rudy's weary voice requested from his bed. (He may as well get this confrontation over and done with.) ''I really have nothing to say to you, Michael,'' he said quietly as his former protege approached the bed. ''Except this: if it had been up to me, you'd never have been allowed to set foot in this facility. You'd still be in prison where you belong. What you did to Jaime...it's inexcusable, indefensible and that's the end of the story.''

''You were one of Kingsley's victims,'' Michael reminded him. ''You, of all people, should know how insidious this is -''

''Yes, and Kingsley is _dead_. It's over.''

Michael shook his head. Rudy wasn't 'getting' it. ''What if there's another? Someone else finishing what he started - or maybe behind everything, all along?''

''Preposterous. You don't really believe that, do you?''

''I know what I'm feeling. Something is _wrong_ - and it's getting worse. I have to operate in two more days.''

''Then call in someone else. Maybe Savidge is available,'' Rudy suggested. ''Tell him what he needs to know and then you can head straight back to the cellblock since you aren't able to do what you were brought here to do.''

''It's not as simple as 'telling him' anything; you know that. I wouldn't be here if it was. I'd be consulting from my cell, where everyone still seems to think I need to be.''

''_Think_ it? I _know_ it, Michael! You know it too.'' Rudy closed his eyes. ''I need some sleep. And you have a job to do that I suggest you get ready for.''

* * *

Michael had one more shot - one more avenue to try for help - and while it seemed daunting, he knew this might be his best chance to be heard with an open mind and maybe even believed. He knocked on the door frame of Jaime's cubicle (after seeing from the doorway that she was sleeping soundly) and before Steve could explode at him, he turned to Mark.

''I think we need to talk,'' he said softly. ''But obviously not here.''

''This, I've gotta hear,'' Steve scoffed. He felt safe in leaving Jaime with the guard, since he'd be with Michael and it would likely only be for a few minutes - so he followed Mark and the young doctor down to Mark's office.

* * *

At that very moment, Russ fought his way out of the heavy meds he'd been given. He kept his eyes closed for a few moments while he collected himself, then easily overcame his guard with the element of surprise on his side. Armed now with the guard's weapon, he headed with robotic determination for the ICU...and Jaime.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Russ approached Jaime's cubicle rapidly and once in the doorway, he drew his weapon. The Security man dove for him just before he fired, knocking him to the ground as the gun went off. The bullet missed its mark and broke through the cubicle glass in a spiderweb pattern and Russ fired again as he hit the floor. The second bullet hit the glass below the first...and shattered it. The guard proved his worth by hitting the alarm button on his radio as he pinned Russ to the ground and disarmed him.

Alerted by the gunshots, Steve and Mark both ran down the hall even before the alarm went off. The guard from Becca's cubicle had already jumped in to help and Steve knocked him aside and then there was only one guard between him...and punching Jaime's would-be killer in the face. Mark caught his arm after the first blow as Oscar reached them and the hallway quickly flooded with guards and penguin-suits.

Steve was the first to look to Jaime while everyone's attention was still focused on Russ. Either the shots or the surrounding ruckus had pulled her from the deepest sleep - and she was moaning softly, her initial flailing having caused severe pain. Steve rushed to her side. ''Page Corinth!'' he called into the hallway. ''Sweetheart,'' he soothed in a soft, quiet voice, ''you're safe. Everything's gonna be okay. It's over now...and you're safe.''

''I heard..._shots_...'' Jaime sobbed.

Steve tenderly brushed the tears from her face and caressed her cheek. ''Yes, you did,'' he told her. ''But it's taken care of. You're safe.''

''What's...happening?'' she asked. Jaime heard the commotion (and the glass breaking) but turning her head was proving too painful. Instead, she stared straight up at Steve and waited for his answer.

''We aren't sure,'' Steve answered honestly. ''But -''

''Shots...'' she repeated in a groggy voice (still under the effects of the sedative). ''There were...shots...and I heard..._Russ_.'' Before Steve could figure out what to tell her, Jaime had drifted back to sleep.

Corinth arrived quickly and checked the monitor read-out. ''Her vitals were all over the place again a few minutes ago,'' he announced, ''but she's stable now. May as well let her sleep.''

Down at the nurses' station, Michael was viewing the same results on the remote monitor. The first regeneration surgery was scheduled in a day a half, moved up a day at Oscar's insistence to the earliest time Michael had felt was still safe...but if her vital signs continued to show these erratic episodes, it would have to be postponed. He wasn't about to risk his patient's life and well-being for the sake of a statement or testimony that would still not be a sure thing in any case.

Michael wasn't sure how the nearly unbearable headaches might affect him in the OR. He hadn't gotten to talk to Mark before the shots went off...but maybe even Oscar would believe him now...

* * *

Russ was immediately thrown into a car and driven back to The Hole, this time in full shackles. He struggled furiously against the bonds while still being transported but by the time they reached the NSB-HQ he had grown silent, his eyes frightened and confused.

Hansen reached the tiny cell before Oscar did. ''I'd ask you _why_,'' he stormed, ''but there's no explanation that would be good enough to justify this! No excuse for what you've done.'' Russ merely stared at him silently, too frightened at first to even speak. ''Nothing to say?'' Hansen fumed. ''Not even a lame platitude?''

''What happened?'' Russ whispered. ''My hands...''

''The cuffs hurt?'' Hansen snarled at him. ''_Good!_''

''Please...what happened?''

The cell door opened to allow Oscar inside. He and Jack would 'double-team' his former right-hand man. ''I trusted you,'' Oscar said with quiet, white-hot anger. ''_Jaime_ trusted you.''

Russ was glad to see him, in spite of the circumstances. Maybe his boss could help clear things up. ''Oscar, I didn't shoot Jaime,'' he said, almost inaudibly. ''I was home...in bed.''

''How can you even say that, when we just caught you red-handed, trying to _shoot her again_?''

''I don't...I didn't...I've been _here!_''

''We're not stupid!'' Hansen scoffed. ''If you're going to make an excuse, at least think of a good one!''

Oscar looked closer. Russ' eyes weren't the same eyes he'd seen when his right-hand man had been pinned to the floor outside Jaime's cubicle. Had Michael been telling the truth? Was it even possible? _**Mind control**__...?_

* * *

''There's something _wrong_,'' Michael began, when he'd found Corinth and pulled him into his office. He described the headaches to him as being like an ice pick straight through the skull - with the burning rage that accompanied them. The other neuro listened to him carefully then arranged for an immediate brain scan. The results were normal; no implanted chips or alterations. What Michael had told him - about _mind control_ - was beginning to have the ring of truth...

* * *

Anja paced impatiently, waiting for word from her contact that the Austin woman was finally dead...but it never came. She was still undeterred, as she still had her ace-in-the-hole, activated and hopefully ready to carry out her plan. It was just a matter of time - and the results would be well worth the wait...


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

For the first time since being shot (and while back in sedated slumber), Jaime began to dream...

_Michael and Russ were both grinning maniacally as they approached her bed from opposite sides. Jaime was trapped with nowhere to go, even if she could get up...which she couldn't. Michael held a scalpel and Russ a gun...and they both clearly intended to finish her off. She flailed helplessly, swinging her left arm at both of them, since the right one couldn't seem to move. Her legs were useless, too - her bionic limbs were all completely dead! - and she knew she was __trapped__. Both would-be killers advanced slowly, as though to prolong her terror...and it worked. Michael reached her first and she braced herself to be stabbed...but instead he began to remove her gown..._

Before her conscious mind could register what she was doing (or even that she was awake), Jaime suddenly flung herself up into a sitting position - and grasped desperately at her head. Steve caught her immediately and whispered soft, soothing words as he eased her back onto her pillow. Corinth rushed in - and Steve saw Michael standing in the hallway, so he knew this time the monitor readings were _serious_.

Jaime saw the syringe out of the corner of her eye. ''Wait...'' she pleaded. She tried to move her legs and right arm - and only confirmed what the dream had been telling her. _She couldn't move_! ''Please. The surgery...Michael's surgery...will I be able to move my...bionics...again?''

Corinth and Steve looked out to the hallway where Michael was hearing everything; he nodded confirmation.

''We believe so, Sweetheart,'' Steve told her.

''Then...don't...put it...off. Want to...be able to..._move_ again!''

Steve's only answer was to brush the hair from her eyes; he knew he couldn't make that promise...and he'd have to allow Michael in to see her again. He nodded to Corinth, who quickly checked her vitals and then administered the drug. Steve held Jaime's hand until her fingers loosened from his and then waited a little longer before calling his assent softly to the surgeon in the hallway.

''You can come in; I know you need to.''

Michael motioned him into the hallway instead. ''Are you sure about this?'' he queried.

''Yeah. Jaime needs you - and she needs this surgery. I could see in her eyes how _helpless_ she feels. And...'' Steve had to swallow hard before continuing. ''I know you really need to see her and assess her when she's awake, too.''

''It would be a lot more helpful in making a decision,'' Michael acknowledged, grateful for Steve's new-found sense of calm, wherever it had come from. ''I can only tell so much from someone else's notes.''

''I know. Just let me...ease her into it...okay? It's not gonna be easy for her.''

''I know it isn't easy for you, either,'' Michael said softly. ''And I appreciate it.''

''Jaime needs you,'' Steve repeated. He was reminding himself as much as telling Michael. It was only his love for his wife and his desire to see her live the life she wanted and deserved that spurred him on - and kept him calm with her surgeon.

''I'll make certain to keep you informed, every step of the way,'' Michael promised, finally stepping into the cubicle and up to the bed. There wasn't a lot he could tell while Jaime was sleeping but he read the monitors carefully then made mental note of her coloring (poor) and the fact that she appeared to be trembling slightly. They'd had to hold off on her coumadin to reduce the risk of bleeding but for now he was more worried about bionic rejection (which would definitely postpone her surgery even more quickly than her erratic vitals might). He sent the nurse for a dose and stayed with his patient until it arrived, then injected it into the IV line himself, watching her body's reaction carefully. When he was satisfied that there were no immediate signs of bleeding, he felt safe to leave her - and give Steve some time alone in the cubicle.

''I really need to speak with you,'' he told Mark.

Mark got up to follow Michael out - and once again the discussion was thwarted, this time by Oscar's arrival (with impeccable timing). ''I need both of you in my office - now, if possible,'' he told them. His tone meant it was not an optional request.

Oscar waited until they got to the office before speaking again. ''Close the door,'' he told Mark...then he shifted his steely gaze to Michael. ''Tell me everything you told me before - and anything else you can add about Kingley's devices...Russ' behavior...and _mind control_.''

* * *

Anja finally heard from her contact and the news was not encouraging. Her Plan B to get rid of the Sommers woman (and move on to her next target) had been thwarted. It was fortunate that she had Plan C already in place. The subject had been activated, although his cooperation would remain unclear for at least another day or two. _My dumb brothers might've failed me_, she thought to herself, _but I always __was__ the real genius in the family!_


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

''So why'd they send you in here?'' Russ wondered. ''Aren't you needed back at the hospital?''

''Right now I'm needed right here,'' Mark answered. ''Why do _you_ think I'm here?''

''Well hopefully to fill me in on what happened to me today, since no one else has a decent answer.''

''And what do _you_ think happened today?''

Russ would've shrugged if he hadn't still been in full shackles - so instead he just shook his head. ''They tell me I tried to kill Jaime. You of all people should understand how ridiculous that is; you know I still cringe some mornings when I have to put my weapon in my suit pocket.''

''I was there today, Russ,'' Mark told him. ''I saw you pinned to the floor and the Security guard with two weapons - his own...and yours.''

''That's impossible! If it were true, don't you think I'd remember it?''

''Not necessarily. If memory serves me, there was another instance where you lost blocks of time and -''

''And that's over with!'' Russ insisted. ''Hansen knocked me in the head and you were the one who pronounced me _cured_!''

''Doesn't mean it couldn't happen again - or maybe _acting_ cured was a strong enough..._suggestion_...in your head that you were able to fool everyone, including yourself.''

''Dear God...no...''

* * *

''The concussive compound doesn't seem to be any use,'' Michael explained, ''since I've already had it. And I can_not_ try it again right now, as I can't risk still being out of it for Jaime's surgery.''

''Will you still be _able_ to operate?'' Oscar wondered.

''I...think so.'' As if for emphatic punctuation, another headache stabbed through his brain and Michael's hands flew to his temples...

''Have you seen Rudy?'' Oscar queried, his focus singularly on what needed to be done (in spite of Michael's obvious distress).

''Very briefly.''

''Do you think he's up to operating on Steve? I need him turned up as soon as possible.''

Michael shook his head, as much to try and rid himself of the pain as it was to answer Oscar's question. ''There's no way; not yet.''

''Then...can you do it?''

''I don't think he'll want to leave Jaime right now, even for _that_,'' Michael told him. ''And I highly doubt he'll put himself in my hands...''

''He'll do it,'' Oscar promised.

* * *

Oscar was right; when presented as an executive-OSI order, it was an 'offer' Steve couldn't refuse. _Besides_, Steve reasoned to himself, _I'd be better able to defend Jaime and Becca, if it came down to that_. It was a surreal experience, though, having Michael as his doctor (even temporarily). Steve didn't trust him further than he could see him!

''I'll stay awake,'' he announced.

''Alright.'' Michael knew that Rudy did it either way (awake or under anesthetic...and he also knew the reason for Steve's request. He wasn't surprised. When they got down to Rudy's lab, he got out the needed instruments while Steve hopped up on the treatment table to wait. Michael's back was to Steve when he had to fight off the strongest headache yet - and the rage and urges that went along with it. When he finally turned around to begin tending to his patient, he was as ready as he was going to get.

There was no need for small talk between the two men as their truce was an uneasy one. Michael concentrated on getting it done right. It was a relatively simple procedure, but one he'd never performed. Steve eyed him closely, in truth more familiar with what was happening than his newly-recruited bionic surgeon. And whether it was because of the effects of mind control that everyone suddenly seemed to be talking about or whether Michael was just _evil_, Steve simply didn't trust him.

He was at least partially right about that...

* * *

Anja checked her device to ensure it was functioning (and transmitting) properly. It was far more sophisticated than the primitive devices her older brother had fashioned. After all, he'd gotten the idea from what she'd been working on for years before he joined her in the Soviet Union. While he had always been a displaced American (and thus inferior in her eyes), Anja considered herself a full Soviet national. She had long since renounced her American citizenship.

If her second subject was unable to terminate the Austin woman for another two days, he was already programmed to do the same to her second intended victim: Austin himself. He was the only one who'd ever met her face-to-face...and while he likely didn't remember their encounter, Anja certainly did. Maybe it was thoughts of the woman he hadn't even been with at the time, or maybe just his misguided sense of _morals_ (ha!) but he'd rejected her advances in favor of keeping his secrets to himself. Her other two intended victims would be the easiest and the hardest to terminate...but in the meantime, the OSI would be in chaos, starting with the facility that had rejected her for her internship in favor of their Golden Boy...ironically the same person whose hands would now send them all hurtling straight into hell!


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Michael's hands were steady in spite of his stabbing headache. He did, however, grow snappish without provocation.

''How's it looking, Doc?'' Steve asked, midway through the 'turning up' procedure.

''If there was a problem, you'd know the second I ran into it,'' Michael said in what was practically a growl.

''Hey, next time chew my head, why don't ya?'' Steve told him with a nervous chuckle.

''Sorry; so far, everything looks good.''

''What about Jaime's surgery - the regeneration - have you made a decision?''

''She's had some serious setbacks,'' Michael acknowledged, ''but if she stabilizes by the time we're finished here, I'll feel a lot more comfortable with going ahead.'' When he'd fully opened the circuits on all three power packs, he increased their output and adjusted the corresponding wires...causing Steve to jump.

''Easy there, Doc,'' he gasped. The pain seemed unnecessary; Steve knew enough about his own bionics to realize that pain meant a crossed or damaged wire somewhere. Would Michael notice the mistake?

He did, readjusting the error - and causing a spark as the circuit flowed freely, upon full activation.

''Never done this before,'' Michael qualified. (_Obviously_, Steve thought to himself.) ''You should be good to go now.''

* * *

Corinth had remained with Jaime...and when he saw her beginning to have what looked like another nightmare, he did what he'd seen Mark Conrad do so successfully. He leaned in closer and whispered to her, ''You're safe; remember that...and fight it off.'' It seemed to help she remained in distress for a few more minutes then calmed and stabilized (still completely under the sedative). Corinth wouldn't have thought it was possible...but she shouldn't have have dreamed at all, under such heavy medication...and Mark's technique _worked_.

Michael noted that too, when he'd finished with Steve and moved on to assessing his critically ill patient. There was still no notable brain swelling and the danger of bleeding seemed to have passed. Her vitals had taken another alarming swing, according to the monitor readings, but she had stabilized now. It was a good sign.

* * *

In his current position, anyone else's focus might have been torn between the goings-on at National Medical and the prisoner currently in full shackles in the NSB's Hole...but Oscar tended to each of the most urgent factors with singular resolve. Jaime's condition remained critical but the surgery appeared to still be a 'go' in just over 24 hours - so he headed to NSB-HQ. Russ had been combative, he learned from the guard who was about to let him into the cell. He had quieted now and was finally trying to talk things through with Mark; excellent news. Oscar stood just inside the re-locked cell and listened.

''Use the mental imaging I taught you, to try and relax your mind'' Mark instructed. He waited while Russ did his best to comply. ''Now, what's the last thing you remember?''

''I was...here,'' Russ told him. No shackles. ''And I think...I broke my own wrists and hand...''

''Yes, you did. Nothing after that?''

''Sorry...no.''

Mark moved his pen in front of Russ' nose and eyes - but even deeper hypnosis couldn't break through whatever was happening to him. If anything, he grew more bewildered and frightened.

''Just admit it!'' Oscar stormed. ''You _shot Jaime __**in the head**_ - looked her right in her eyes and shot her! Then you tried to finish her off again today!''

''That's...not helpful,'' Mark said, stating the obvious as his patient (who had been relatively quiet and cooperative) now grew agitated - and _angry_.

''_Get __out__!_'' Russ stormed at both men. ''I don't need or want to talk to you!''

* * *

Anja adjusted her device to full power and sat back to await word from her contact. Doctor Wells would soon be eliminated and then her subject could move on to the most difficult assignment to program - and to carry out - the assassination of the head of the OSI. Goldman had done her no direct harm, but this would leave the hospital rudderless so her subject could easily assume command. Then both Austins could be terminated at will. Her plan involved the woman going first and when Austin himself _finally_ died, he would do so with the knowledge that he'd directly caused his own beloved wife's painful exit with his actions while he'd been in Soviet territory. He _would_ be told; her instructions and programming made certain to include that...but the knowledge would come to him too late to let anyone know or to do anything to try and stop her! Anja laughed with joy; her plan was foolproof! Perhaps her subject could even arrange an inter-cultural internship for her but even if that hope failed, she would go back to her nationalized country with the knowledge that everyone who had wronged her was dead - and she could report the success of her device directly to the KGB. They would surely listen to her now, after what she was about to accomplish!

* * *

With another headache piercing through him, Michael pulled the Security alarm on the first floor, slipped up the stairwell and made his way into Rudy's room, unchallenged...

- - - - -


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Rudy was groggy but awake, the result of fighting off a mild sedative his doctor had given him to help him rest (meaning sleep) but Rudy intended for it to only take the edge off his nerves and allow him to think more clearly. (So neither doctor had gotten exactly the results they'd been looking for.) As for Michael, he'd expected to find his former mentor asleep - but he wasn't thwarted.

''I'll get you a sedative,'' he offered smoothly.

''Already had one,'' Rudy told him. ''But there's work to be done - and while Oscar's an..._efficient_...administrator, he doesn't know the people and this facility the way I do. If I can't use my office, I can at least...help him for now.''

''Mind if I take a look at this?'' Michael asked, removing and opening Rudy's chart before the older doctor had given his consent. ''Your vitals were calmer and not so all over the place following sedation. But what he gave you was too mild...and you need some good, solid sleep.''

''I'll sleep when I'm dead,'' Rudy said stubbornly (not realizing that was exactly what Michael had been programmed to make happen). ''I'm getting up, Michael. I _know_ my staff; there's more going on here than they're telling me. And I've heard TWO Security alarms today! Even if I'm not the one in charge, Oscar needs my help.'' He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose weakly (but stubbornly) to his feet, swaying slightly.

''Look at you - you can't even stand up! Are you _trying_ to give yourself a heart attack?'' Michael (in his 'programmed' state) realized this could work to his advantage. The older man would substantially weaken his own heart - no assistance from him necessary. Rudy put on a robe then took a few determined steps around Michael and toward the door. ''Well, I see I cannot stop you. So maybe you're right. Maybe you _can_ help Oscar, after all.'' He didn't attempt any further intervention and smiled as Rudy disappeared down the hallway.

Another headache coursed straight through him - one he seemed to feel all the way to his toes - and Michael sat down on Rudy's bed, suddenly aware of himself as he struggled to fight it off. _Where had Rudy gone_? he wondered when full awareness returned. There was no time to try and find out; Jaime would be awakened soon and Steve had promised to try and ease her into letting Michael examine her while she was fully conscious. He needed his own full awareness and _focus_ for that...and when he stood up, he had successfully fought off the rage and the urges...at least for now.

* * *

Corinth stood by Jaime's bed and Mark (newly returned from the NSB) sat in his usual corner nearby. As she roused from the effects of the sedative, Corinth noted that her vital signs remained stable and she seemed more 'in the moment', more _present_ than the previous times they'd awakened her. He nodded his assent to Steve, who leaned in even closer than usual.

''Sweetheart, tomorrow you'll have your first surgery to regenerate and restore some of the cells damaged by the bullet. You..._know_...who'll be your surgeon...don't you?''

Jaime thought for a moment and then closed eyes that had begun to brim over with tears as she figured it out. She nodded, then opened her eyes and looked over at Corinth. ''You'll be there too...right?'' she asked tremulously.

''Of course; I'll be assisting.'' He'd also be watching every move Michael made...but there would likely be many parts - most of it, really - that he was unfamiliar with. That was why Michael was there, of course - because he was the only one qualified to perform the procedure. ''And it's my understanding that Rudy has requested to be seated up in the theater.''

Jaime blinked away her tears...and managed a smile. She would be as safe as her other doctors could make her. And since she'd be under anesthesia, she'd never have to see him. ''Just...keep him away...'' she requested, ''until I'm all the way...asleep. Then I don't have to see his face...and _remember_.''

Steve swallowed hard. ''Jaime, there's something else we need to talk to you about. Since Michael is performing the procedure, it would be best if he could come in and examine you now - while you're awake, instead -''

''Noooo...''

''Instead of having to rely on reading notes in a file about your condition,'' Steve finished.

''Steve, no...please? I...can't.'' Fresh tears, hot and frightened, spilled down her cheeks.

''It would help ensure that your surgery goes smoothly tomorrow,'' he said, trying to sound firm when her reaction was really breaking his heart. ''I'll be here the whole time..and so will Mark and Doctor Corinth. You'll be safe...and it'll help Michael in doing his very best work tomorrow.'' He saw the young surgeon waiting in the hallway. ''Can we let him come in now?'' Steve asked softly.

Jaime managed only a slight nod. Steve wiped the tears from her face and Corinth called quietly into the hallway. ''Alright, Michael.'' He stepped to the foot of Jaime's bed to allow her primary surgeon access to his patient.

Michael moved into the room and approached Jaime with his very best, most professional bedside manner. ''Talking about it would make you uncomfortable,'' he acknowledged, ''and I certainly don't want that. But I know you're afraid of me now - I can't blame you in the least - and I am beyond sorry about the circumstances and especially my behavior in making you feel that way. Now, only if you're alright with it and if you're ready, I'll examine your reflexes and reactions. Okay?''

It was a surreal experience, looking into the eyes of her _attacker_ and placing herself _in his hands_ again...and for a brief moment, Jaime flashed back to an image of lying on another bed - the one in the cabin - and what had happened there. Then she looked into Steve's loving face, found reassurance and strength there and the image passed successfully.

''I'm...ready,'' she announced.

Michael leaned over her and held out his index finger, moving it slowly to her nose, then to either side of her line of vision. _Reactions slow but present_, he noted to himself. ''Can you move your left arm?'' he queried.

''Yes.''

''Good; I want you to touch your nose with just your index finger.'' _She missed, but only slightly_, he noted. ''Alright - that's very good. Now I'm going to raise the head of your bed until you're in a more upright position and I need you to try and let me know what you're feeling. If you have any discomfort, pain or dizziness and find you can't voice it, raise your arm off the bed and I'll know to stop. I'll go slowly,'' Michael told her before he began.

Jaime focused on Steve's face as the bed began to raise. Steve could see her already too-pale skin grow even more porcelain-white. ''Dizzy...but not...too bad,'' she told them. A little further, then her head began to swim. Her vision blurred and there was _pain_ she suddenly couldn't find the words for. Steve saw her eyes grow panicked...and then she remembered Michael's instruction and raised her arm off the bed a few inches. She was shaking terribly from the effort and lowered it again but Michael had seen it.

_Vertigo at 45 degrees and pain at 75_, he told himself (to be noted in her file as soon as they'd finished). ''You did a great job,'' he told Jaime, meaning it. Slowly, he lowered her back to prone again and took a look at the monitor. Her vitals had briefly jumped but not to alarming levels - and they were already stabilizing. An excellent sign. When Jaime finally brought herself to be able to look at him, he smiled warmly. ''I'm done here,'' he told her. ''Thank you so much for allowing me to come in. If you have no further problems, it looks like we can go ahead as scheduled. Do you have any questions for me - either of you?'' he asked both Austins.

''What will the initial surgical therapy allow her to do?'' Steve wondered.

''It's impossible to tell for sure, but my hope is that I can restore movement to your bionics, Jaime. Your thought processes should become clearer and speech will be easier for you. After the first day or two - depending on your condition - we'll try to get you out of the bed and see what you're able to do. A little at a time, naturally...and we'll go from there.''

- - - - -


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Oscar was startled by Rudy's sudden appearance - and by his pallid face. ''You need to be back in bed,'' he noted, immediately returning to the file he was reading on the Kingsley twins.

Rudy sank into a chair in what used to be (and hopefully would be again) his own office. ''The Security alarms,'' he began wearily, ''what were they for?''

Oscar never glanced up from what was new information. ''The first one...was an attempted shooting. Russ broke through the drugs they'd used to put him out - _heavy_ drugs - and they caught him just outside Jaime's cubicle.'' Even while he was talking, he was also absorbing what he was reading. It rocked him, but he gave no indication and finally looked up at his dear friend. ''They're repairing the broken cubicle glass this afternoon, while Jaime is sleeping, so she doesn't have to have even more of a reminder the next time she wakes up.''

''And the second alarm?''

''False alarm. We couldn't find any reason for it to go off. I've got a technician inspecting the wiring to see if it's faulty.''

''I don't think it was...'' Rudy said slowly. ''That was when _Michael_ came into my room.''

''Did he try to harm you in any way?'' Oscar probed.

''Not really; he just wanted to sedate me but after that...oh. Who knows what might've happened if I'd let him...''

''You don't trust him either.''

''No I don't. Not...anymore,'' Rudy told him. ''I want to - I _need_ to - especially with Jaime scheduled for surgery. I'll be up in the theater but there's only a portion of what he'll be doing that I'm even remotely familiar with. Hopefully he'll be doing the right things and not trying to sabotage the strongest witness against him from that trial.''

''And he just finished turning Steve back up for me,'' Oscar explained.

''I'd like to check those circuits,'' Rudy announced. ''First, though, I'll need the change of clothing in the cupboard behind you.''

''From what I'm told - and from the way you look - you aren't even supposed to be out of bed.''

''Maybe not, but this won't be strenuous...and it'll go a long way toward telling me if we can trust him again.''

''There may be outside...ah..._influences_ at work here,'' Oscar said quietly. ''It seems the Kingsley twins had a younger sister...''

* * *

Steve was also surprised by Rudy's appearance. He was dressed in scrubs and a lab coat but looked like he was halfway to death's door. ''I need to see you in the lab,'' he told Steve.

''I really don't wanna leave her, Doc,'' Steve said softly, looking at his wife's sleeping form in the bed beside him.

''I'll be here, Steve,'' Mark promised. ''And I won't let Michael in until you come back.''

In spite of his obvious weakness, Rudy's hands were sure as he slit the plasticine over Steve's power packs and began inspecting Michael's work. In the circuits of his left leg, he discovered a problem. Several wires had been crossed in the wrong directions when Michael had reopened the pack to its full power. Rudy corrected them silently, intending to let Oscar know. ''You're all set,'' he told his patient after he'd resealed the plasticine. ''Everything looks good.'' He reasoned that it could've been an innocent mistake by the younger doctor (who had never performed the procedure before) so there was no need to give Steve a reason to go after Michael, now that he was at full power. Rudy patted his patient warmly on the shoulder and headed back to his (Oscar's) office, after which he intended to become a patient again himself, at least for a little while. He was abnormally tired...

* * *

Rudy found Oscar thundering into the phone - and felt instantly sorry for whoever was on the other end. ''Why wasn't this information in the previous file?'' he was storming. ''I don't care if she defected to the Soviets - or to Timbuktu - or how many years ago! That makes her even more of a threat! And if the information was well-hidden it still should've been the first thing you dug up! Dammit, do you realize what this could mean?''

Rudy waited silently, grateful for the chance to rest in a chair for a bit before telling Oscar what he'd uncovered. Oscar hollered a few (even more choice) curse words at the unfortunate recipient on the other end of the line and then slammed the phone into its cradle. ''I hope you didn't find anything incriminating,'' he told Rudy (the veins in his neck still pulsing with anger). ''I don't need any more bad news today; I have a certain Soviet nationalist to find...and I need to do it fast! Thank to the ineptness of my very own teams, she could be just about anywhere on the globe...but I sense that's she's close. _Dangerously close_...''

* * *

On his way back to Jaime's side, Steve stopped off in the nursery to see his daughter. It was feeding time, so he sat in the rocking chair cradling her gently and giving her the bottle. Becca waved her arms and cooed at him...a new sound and one that Jaime needed to experience. Steve decided that the next time they woke her, he'd bring the child in for a little time with her mother. While Michael would also be in the room, Steve vowed to sit between the doctor and Becca, blocking his access as well as his view. He _had_ to think of Michael as a doctor now and push away any past feelings that the sight of him might evoke...for Jaime's sake. Now that he was turned up, he didn't want to have it taken away due to another fit of temper. Steve needed to keep his strength to be better able to defend Jaime and Becca...if it ever came down to that.

* * *

Michael's eyes were riveted to what he could see of the infant in Steve's arms as Jaime slowly emerged to full consciousness. He had to force himself to look away and read her monitors. Everything appeared stable. Becca seemed to be angling herself toward her mother, wanting to feel Jaime's touch. Michael longed for that touch himself...but pushed the thoughts away. _Becca_...how he wished she was his! Why couldn't he stop thinking about that? She wasn't - and he needed to be alright (and even happy) about that to be able to continue. With his back to Steve while he still faced the monitors, Michael closed his eyes very briefly to try and push away the unwelcome thoughts before turning again toward his patient, who was awake now and reaching her left arm out to her daughter.

Steve placed the baby in the crook of Jaime's arm shoring her up with his hands to make both his wife and his daughter feel more secure. Jaime smiled when Becca (exactly as Steve had hoped) made the same lovely cooing noise, at her mother this time. Finally, everything seemed to be perfect with his family (if only for a few minutes). Steve took Becca back into his own arms when Michael stepped closer to the bed.

Jaime looked at the doctor, then at her daughter...and suddenly her emotions went wild. She couldn't stop the images that were pouring rapid-fire into her mind and she looked helplessly toward Mark, asking with her eyes for him to intercede. The therapist took the peppermint oil from his pocket (where he always carried it)...but this time, it didn't help. Jaime's eyes rolled back in her head and she began to flail in panic, her body angling to roll off the bed without the use of her legs or arm to help her. Mark and Michael pulled up the bed rails to keep her in place but one look at the monitors told the full story, as the 'critical vitals' alarm began to wail almost mournfully...

- - - - -


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Michael wisely left the room without anyone having to request it. He stopped at the nurses' desk and ordered needed meds he wanted a nurse to administer immediately...then he stood watching the remote monitors until he knew that his orders had been followed and Corinth had answered his page and responded to Jaime's cubicle. He conscientiously made notes in Jaime's file of the critical drop in vitals and again once they began to stabilize. It was all he could do to help her from that position so he left her in Doctor Corinth's hands for now and headed down to his office...to find Mark waiting for him there.

''Jaime needs you right now,'' Michael told him.

''Corinth just sedated her; she's out. And she's stable.''

''I know; I was watching the monitors.''

''It's just you and me now,'' Mark said quietly. ''No Oscar - and no Steve. What are you thinking about the surgery, after this latest episode. Postponement?''

Michael shook his head. ''It should still be safe to operate. I'm under orders to proceed at the earliest safe date and time.''

''From Oscar?'' Mark gathered.

''And from Steve too.''

''He told you that?''

''No,'' Michael admitted, ''but I know he wants to see Jaime fully functional again - or at least on her way there. I could tell by the question he asked and by the way he looked at her.''

''He does,'' Mark confirmed, ''but the only one with any say in this - and the only one whose opinion truly matters - is you. Your first responsibility is to your patient...our patient...and her safety and well-being.''

''I know that!''

''Not to Oscar or Steve or even a Presidential Order if Oscar were to try and pull that one out of the hat next.''

''I want to give Jaime her life back - and I will - tomorrow,'' Michael vowed.

''Any other reason you won't entertain the thought of postponing?'' Mark probed quietly. Michael had no immediate answer, so Mark went on. ''You're having the same headaches that Russ is having - like the one that kept him from being aware when he tried to kill Jaime.''

''Well...yes. You already know that. And I'd like to operate before they get any worse...while I can still do this for her. She deserves it.''

Mark could take that statement two ways. Did Michael mean Jaime deserved to live a normal life again...or that he intended to kill her while she was completely in his hands and under his control? He had to believe the former...but couldn't let go of the latter. ''As long as you can know with a clear mind that she's ready and it's safe to proceed,'' he told the young surgeon.

''And I won't make a final decision until morning,'' Michael concluded. ''I'll see how she does overnight and then go - or postpone - from there.''

* * *

In the morning, it seemed like half the hospital was waiting on Michael's decision. He was again able to examine Jaime while she was fully conscious. Not having Becca in the cubicle seemed to make the difference for her, as if her daughter in the same room with him brought up emotions too intense to bear. She still gazed directly into Steve's eyes except when she had to follow Michael's finger and then his pencil - and she had a slight visible reaction to looking at him but kept silent and nothing abnormal appeared on the monitors. _Nearly 90 degrees upright motion achieved_, Michael wrote in her file. _Slight dizziness and only residual surgical pain present. Reactions slow but completely present. Surgery is green-lighted_. He set the arrangements (already in place) into motion, having an OR readied and his team assembled. Doctor Corinth and Rudy were notified and Michael himself arranged for Security to be beefed up surrounding the Operating Room...and the nursery. While everyone's attention was diverted with Jaime's surgery, he didn't want to take a chance of anything happening to Becca - and he knew it would make Steve and Jaime feel more secure.

As he sat in his office with a cup of coffee, mentally preparing himself for the hugely important task at hand, another headache stabbed through his brain like a giant, rusty icepick. He drank his coffee and looked out the window, picturing Jaime's smile in his mind as successfully fought off the raging pain. Helping her to truly smile again by returning what had been so brutally taken away from her with a single bullet was his primary goal; he would focus on that...and he would do it!

* * *

The same pain coursed through Russ' head at almost the same time but he did nothing to try and fight it off. He had nothing to focus on in The Hole except bewilderment...and now _anger_. He pounded on the door, demanding to speak to the guard and then started on a diatribe about his attorney...before punching the guard in the stomach. Back-up guards were immediately upon him, throwing him back onto the bench and handcuffing him there. Hansen and Oscar would need to be notified...again.

* * *

It was _time_. Michael looked down at Jaime who was lying on the operating table, fully anesthetized and awaiting his calm, practiced hands. He would give her back what she deserved and then some - hopefully, he thought, atoning at least somewhat for his past behavior once the therapy was a success. Jaime's vital signs were exactly where they should be - and stable. Under more watchful eyes than he'd ever had surrounding him before, Michael made the first cuts and began.

He had finally reached the target area and was just about to begin the actual regeneration when he suddenly left the operating room...

- - - - -


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Rudy watched as closely as he could from up in the theater. The young surgeon/scientist's stance was tall and confident, his hands were steady and his demeanor calm. Rudy allowed himself to relax just a little bit; Michael seemed completely sure of himself and in control of his faculties. The initial cuts were made and Michael removed the same portion of Jaime's skull as had been removed during her initial surgery. He painstakingly worked his way into the most injured part of her brain and then...Rudy bounded from his seat because _Michael left the OR_! With a patient on the table, the most sensitive portion of her brain exposed and ready - _he left the OR_!

Rudy made it downstairs and into the anteroom in record time. Michael stood facing the rear wall, trembling visibly with his hands to his head. ''I'll close her up,'' Rudy told him. ''You canNOT operate in that condition!''

''I'll be fine in a minute,'' Michael said firmly. ''I need to do this - for Steve and Oscar and especially for _Jaime_!''

''No; not like this.''

''I came out to get this,'' Michael announced, picking up the nearest vial as a cover for what was happening (to give him precious seconds to 'get right' again). ''It was accidentally left off the tray.'' He turned to face his former mentor, clear-headed and pain-free once again. ''You can go back to the theater,'' he told Rudy. ''I'm _fine_ - and ready to proceed.''

''Michael - !''

The young surgeon was already striding with renewed confidence back into the OR. _If he's really going through with this, I need to be __in__ there_, Rudy told himself, quickly masking and scrubbing in to stand at the table. One of the attending nurses gave him a shocked look and they all made room for him. It pained Rudy to see the man who'd _tried to __**kill**__ him_ - not to mention what he'd done to Jaime - at the helm of such crucial, intricate work...but there truly was no other choice.

Michael gave Rudy a nod of respect and continued with his work.

* * *

Oscar, too, had a seat reserved for him up in the theater - but instead he'd remained in his office. There would be nothing he could do up there to speed things along or ensure a proper result, so he busied himself with a new file, a much thinner file on _Anna Kingsley_. She had disappeared more than a decade earlier - about a year before her brother infiltrated himself into the Soviet education system. Oscar's face blanched as he read that her disappearance came on the heels of her rejection for an internship at _this very hospital_, by Rudy himself! Oscar's agents had been thorough with something specific to work from...and had noted that the year's internship had been granted to _Michael Marchetti_.

Oscar knew then that they were targeting the correct suspect. Whether her brother had given her a primitive version of his device or whether she'd somehow built one from his specs, Oscar didn't know...until he read a little further. Anna had graduated from college _before_ her brothers, who were five years older! Any hospital in the nation would've been happy - and lucky - to welcome her aboard but she had chosen the one place where her credentials were held up to those of another young genius and a decision had to be made. Rudy had gone with the intern whose research seemed more promising, the one with a clear vision of his future and the confidence to take himself all the way. The notes Rudy had made at the time indicated that it had been a very close decision but Michael had an edge to him that Anna simply couldn't meet.

She'd disappeared within weeks of her rejection...and the file stopped there. No further information could be uncovered on her whereabouts or even if she was still alive. There was a tiny notation at the bottom of her application file noting that Rudy had attempted to call her back in the following year but the consensus among her friends and family was that Anna Kingsley had committed suicide, even though no trace of her had ever been found.

Oscar picked up the phone and dialed the hospital switchboard. ''Get me Jack Hansen at the NSB,'' he said brusquely.

''I believe he's here in the building, Sir,'' came the reply.

''Well then _page him_!'' Oscar barked. ''Just get him into my office - and I need him NOW!''

* * *

Steve had been offered a seat in the theater but he'd turned it down, unable to watch his wife's attacker _cut into her brain_. He chose instead to spend the time with Becca, taking her from the nursery into Jaime's cubicle where he sat and cradled her tenderly in strong, powerful arms where she would hopefully pick up her mother's scent from Jaime's pillow and bed covers. He sang lovingly to her, Jaime's favorite Irish Lullaby and then rang for a nurse when it was time for the child's bottle. Occupying the same space that Jaime had been lying in just before them calmed both her husband and daughter. Steve took care of burping and changing the infant after she'd eaten, took a few bites of the sandwich a nurse brought him then held Becca close (still in Jaime's bed), humming the baby into soft, pleasant slumber and staying in that position, holding her while she slept. He would return her to the nursery much later in the day, to take his place outside the big double doors to await news...and Michael's emergence. In the meantime, Becca's nurses had a phone line that had been connected directly to the OR and if anything happened that he needed to be aware of, Steve would be notified immediately.

For now, both Steve and Becca were sensing Jaime's presence and being comforted by her closeness...and Steve needed Becca equally as much as Becca needed him.

* * *

''We need to combine efforts,'' Oscar told Hansen, after briefing him on what his teams had uncovered. ''Specifically, we need to find those lost years - where she was and what she was doing there. Also whether she had any contact with her brothers - especially Grant, possibly when he was in the Soviet Union.''

''We'll involve Interpol if we have to,'' Jack theorized, ''because if something happened between them in the Soviet Union, we may be bringing the Cold War into this - and then we're looking at an international incident...''

- - - - -


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

''How long until she wakes up?'' Steve asked when Jaime had been returned to the ICU cubicle.

''I'll keep her in electro-sleep for 24 hours,'' Michael explained, ''to allow the regeneration to 'take hold', then wake her slowly.''

''And did it...work?''

Michael smiled reassuringly. ''Everything went well, in as far as I can tell without her conscious help.'' He took one more look at the monitors and was gratified to see that his patient was stable. ''I'll check back in an hour, but ring if you need anything at all.''

Steve surprised Mark, Rudy, Oscar and especially himself when he rose to shake the young surgeon's hand. ''Thank you,'' he said sincerely before returning to his wife.

Rudy followed Michael into the hallway. ''This is a rough situation for everyone, having you here,'' Rudy told him. ''I know it has to also be rough on you - and I wanted to thank you for handling things so professionally, especially with Steve.''

''All part of the job,'' Michael said modestly.

''And your work in the OR was nothing short of amazing. Utterly groundbreaking.''

''You should probably save the praise until Jaime wakes up and we know that it worked...but thank you. That means a lot to me.''

* * *

By the next day, the combined efforts of the OSI and NSB had turned over no new leads in the search for Anna Kingsley or her movements for the last decade. They were not even able to confirm that she was alive. ''She's out there - and behind this - I just know it!'' Oscar fumed.

''If she is out there, we'll find her,'' Hansen vowed. ''Our contacts in the Soviet Union are still on this. We should hear something soon, if that's where she's been.''

''People don't just disappear off the face of the Earth!'' Oscar insisted.

''Oscar, we both know that sometimes..._they do_...''

* * *

Michael and Steve both watched Jaime's reactions closely as the technician slowly dropped the line voltage on the electro-anesthetic. ''Completely off now, Doctor,'' the tech announced, before removing the wires and leaving the room with his job completed.

''It could take awhile for her to surface,'' Michael told Steve (and Mark, in his usual corner seat out of the way). ''I've medicated her for the pain, so she may be groggy. Don't let that alarm you.'' When Jaime began to moan softly and show the first signs of coming to, Michael stepped back toward the monitors so Steve's face would be the first one she saw.

''Well, hello there, Sleepyhead,'' Steve said softly when Jaime finally opened her eyes.

Jaime struggled to focus. Where was she...and what had happened to her? Slowly, her vision cleared and so did at least some of the fogginess in her brain. She smiled back at her husband, squeezed his hand and then began the routine she knew by rote. ''I'm Jaime Austin...at National Medical-Los Angeles...but I don't know the date.''

''Very good,'' Michael said with a chuckle. ''How do you feel - any pain?''

''Loopy,'' Jaime told him. She didn't flinch when Michael took a step closer to the bed.

''We'll let you go back to sleep soon,'' he promised.

''Pencil and...finger...first?'' Jaime guessed.

''You know this routine better than I do,'' Michael acknowledged. _Reactions very slow_ he noted to himself, _but fully present_. ''Now can you try to move your right arm for me, please?''

With just the slightest of tremors, Jaime raised her arm off the bed and obligingly touched her nose with her right index finger. ''How's...that?''

''That's excellent. And can you -'' Michael stopped and chuckled again as Jaime wriggled her toes. ''You don't need me here at all, do you?'' he joked.

''Had to...do this..too many times!''

Steve leaned in closer. ''Sweetheart, do you know why you're here?''

''Had...surgery.''

''Before that; what happened to bring you here?''

''Was...shot. Steve...Russ shot me! But...'' Jaime closed her eyes, willing the memory forward - and the men at her bedside waited silently, allowing her the time to gather her thoughts. When she looked up at them again, It was with a stark realization. ''His eyes...Russ' eyes...something...was _wrong_! They were like..._Kingley's eyes_.'' Mark leaned forward in his chair, almost expecting a flashback with that sort of memory - but Jaime was able to continue. ''It was like...he wasn't even there!''

* * *

Russ wished he could be absolutely anywhere in the world other than where he was. His own attorney had just told him that it might be in his best interest to simply cooperate and admit what he'd done. '_I don't remember_' was one of the oldest defense tricks in the book but in this case it simply would not hold water. Russ knew he'd have a difficult (if not impossible) time pleading Guilty, No Contest - or even accepting a plea deal. His mind held no memory whatsoever of what they told him he'd done...so if he told the judge he had done it, wouldn't that be perjury?

- - - - -


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

The last thing Oscar remembered was talking with Jack Hansen...

''People don't just disappear off the face of the Earth!'' he'd insisted.

''Oscar, we both know that sometimes...they do...''

Then Oscar had felt a bitter, choking mist hit his face...and now he was blindfolded and handcuffed to a chair. Even before he could begin to process what had happened, his fingers looped into his belt and (designed to be within reach of cuffed hands) he found the locator button and pressed it.

She saw his hands moving and laughed. ''If you're looking for your radio, it's been confiscated.''

The button he'd pressed was recessed into the _inside_ of his belt, so Oscar knew that going by appearances, she thought he'd been searching for his datacom's Help button. He hoped fervently that the cavalry would come for him in time - but he had no idea where he was or how long he'd been unconscious. If it was just the mist, Oscar reasoned, he was likely within 30 minutes of National Medical...but it was impossible to tell if he'd been kept out longer.

''Hello, Anna,'' he said in a quietly steady voice.

''Quite perceptive, aren't we, Mister Goldman? But I have always hated that name. Please do not use it again.''

''So you got to Jack Hansen,'' Oscar surmised. ''Very clever. Mark Russell too. And I'm guessing Michael Marchetti.''

''I had always heard you had a quick mind, Mister Goldman.''

''Look..._Anna_ - we both know how this works. You want information. I'll refuse to give it to you and you'll hit me with whatever you have in your arsenal. Shocks? Beatings? You won't get what you want from me - like I suspect you didn't get anything from Jack. Eventually, you'll go too far and I'll die strapped to this chair. So let's get on with it.''

''Oh, we will have more _fun_ than that, Mister Goldman. But your need now is to trust in me -'' Anja told him. Oscar laughed derisively...then he heard a click and an ominous, unfamiliar whirring sound. ''I have special plans for you,'' Anja chuckled as the whirring grew all-encompassing...and Oscar could _feel_ the sound in every cell of his body...

* * *

Jaime obediently closed her eyes when Michael told her it was time to rest...but so many images were flooding at her all at once like some maniacal kaleidoscope and her eyes flew open again with shock...and happiness. Michael turned back to chide her. ''Rest means sleep,'' he insisted in a firm but gentle voice. ''I can give you a light sedative, if you need one.''

''Chris...the accident...'' Jaime marveled, very softly. She was groggy and weak but far too excited for something as mundane as sleep. ''I...remember! And...my training...the missions...I think...it's all there! You...you did it!'' Tears streamed down her face but these were happy tears, accompanied by a weak but broad and genuine smile.

Michael smiled back. ''You're a strong woman,'' he told her. ''You fought for this by overcoming...everything. The success is yours, not mine.''

Mark rose from his corner seat to approach the bed. ''I think it's best if you take Michael's advise - and take him up on the sedative so you can get some rest. You've just had _major_ surgery; I guarantee you'll feel even better when you wake up.''

Jaime nodded, her gaze now transfixed to Steve's face. Michael stepped out and headed for the drug cabinet, heady with the triumph he'd known all along would be possible for Jaime...when a headache blinded him as he held the syringe in his hand to prepare the dosage. He had the presence of mind to put down the needle and step away from the drug cabinet, to avoid a wrong dosage or improper medication. He looked out the rear window at the lake behind the building and focused on that, massaging his temples until the sensations had passed...then he returned to the cabinet to prepare Jaime's shot himself.

* * *

''Sometimes they do, Oscar.''

Jack Hansen's voice burst through his temporary fog...and Oscar blinked. ''I'm sorry; I must be more tired than I thought I was,'' Oscar told him. They were still in his office but he suddenly felt like his focus had been on another planet...or somewhere further out in the stratosphere. ''What were you talking about?'' he asked, completely confused.

''How sometimes people - like Anna Kingsley - just disappear without a trace.'' Hansen had completed his current task, of letting the teams know the Locator alarm had been false and ordering them to stand down.

Oscar nodded absently. ''You're probably right. Are we...finished here? There's something I need to do. You can wait here, if you'd like. Use my phone, have some coffee; whatever you need.'' Jack stepped aside to let Oscar leave the office and then sank into a chair...while Oscar made his way to the nursery.

He was able to enter unchallenged and walked straight up to the crib, focused intently on the infant inside. ''May I hold her?'' he asked. With the nurses' permission, he picked up Becca and began walking around the room, talking to the baby in low, soothing tones then he headed for the door. ''I'll just take her next door to see her Mama,'' he told the guards. Through the glass partition, they could see that Jaime was still awake with Michael having just returned to her bedside.

Oscar carried Becca into Jaime's cubicle and placed her in her mother's waiting arms, just after Michael had injected the syringe into her IV port. The child cooed as Jaime struggled against the medication, yearning for some time with her daughter. It was a battle she was losing, so she handed the baby to Steve.

''I'd rather stay with you for now, Sweetheart,'' Steve told her. ''I'll take care of Becca when it's time for her bottle and rocking, but you're my main concern right now. Oscar, could you take her back to the nursery, please?'' Steve placed the baby back into Oscar's arms and Jaime took one more glimpse of her daughter before her eyes fluttered closed...and then open again.

''Steve! His - Oscar's - eyes! Go after him! Get...Becca back!'' It was all she could manage before the meds took her under and she fell asleep.

Steve glanced out of the cubicle and saw Oscar turn right (toward the elevator) instead of left (toward the nursery) - and flew after him with bionic speed...

- - - - -


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

At full bionic speed, Steve made it to the stairwell and down to the lower (below ground) office level just as the elevator doors opened. He stood directly in front of his boss, blocking his way. ''Taking the long route 'back to the nursery', Oscar?'' he challenged. ''Give me my daughter - or I'll take her from you and knock you into next week!''

''I don't think you'll do that, _Colonel Austin_,'' Oscar shot back. ''There are charges over your head that could put you away for a very long time. If you lay one hand - one finger - on me, I'll have you arrested and it'll all come crashing down, straight on your head.'' Oscar tried to get past him, to head for the door to the rear parking lot on the far side of the hallway.

''If you think I'll let you walk out of here with Becca,'' Steve said in a low, firm voice (trying not to frighten the child), ''then you've lost your mind. I'll fight to the death for that little girl...and you know it!''

''Get out of the way, Steve,'' Oscar ordered, almost robotically. He lifted his gaze past Steve's shoulder at the door they were slowly inching toward. _Too slowly._ The door was his goal and he focused on it intently.

''Pull the Security alarm, Oscar - and tell them I threatened you. Go ahead, because I'll use whatever means necessary to keep you from doing...whatever it is you _think_ you're doing! You know what? I'll pull it for you!''

Oscar stepped in front of the small wall box, still holding Becca close to his chest. He had to get past Steve - had to make it to the door. His focus was as singular as it had ever been; one of his greatest strengths had now become his weakness. Nothing mattered except getting out that door with the baby. Nothing...and no one.

* * *

In her bed in the ICU, Jaime was tossing restlessly - just about the worst thing she could do immediately following brain surgery. Michael sent a nurse for a dose of diazepam and he wisely let Mark be the one to try and calm her. She was fighting her way out of sedation, murmuring Steve's name...and their daughter's. ''His...eyes...Russ'..._Oscar's_...'' she whispered hoarsely, not awake but not asleep. ''They were...like Kingsley's...''

The realization hit Mark like a shot. Jaime had been the only one to see Grant Kingsley's eyes up close. She'd equated Russ' eyes with Kingsley's...and Michael's, too, when they'd been up at the cabin. She had also been the one to visit Graham Kingsley, and announced he did _not_ have the eyes, paving the way for him to be cleared of his charges. It all tied in together for him now, making perfect (but horrific) sense. Mark soothed his patient with soft, reassuring words, telling her that everything would be alright and that Becca would be back in her crib when Jaime woke up. (And hoping like hell that he hadn't just lied to her!) Even with the addition of the tranquilizer, Jaime fought sleep every step of the way, still sobbing her daughter's name and mumbling almost incoherently.

''_Kingsley's...eyes...they all had them...his...eyes_...'' until she was fully out.

* * *

On the lower level, the men were in a stand-off. Oscar refused to release his hold on Becca which, although it was gentle enough so as not to frighten or hurt the child, was still firm - and he eyed the door for an opportunity to make a break for it. Steve could take him down with one well-placed kick, but to send his boss sprawling with Becca in his arms could have disastrous consequences. If he dropped (or worse, threw) her...or fell on top of her...

Still, Oscar was not going out that door with Becca! Finally, he made a move, stepping aside just slightly, allowing Oscar to take a few steps toward his goal, then Steve reached around him and pulled the Security alarm. It blared directly in Oscar's ears...and suddenly he looked beyond bewildered. He was in the hallway holding Becca, with Steve looking like he was ready to pound him to pieces. There was an alarm going off. He remembered being in his office with Jack. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of it all, then handed the baby to Steve.

''The alarm - I have to look into it...'' he mumbled.

''Oscar, you need to stay here,'' Steve told him gently. He was almost as confused as his boss...but at least Becca was safe.

Oscar watched the baby as she cooed at her Daddy, and his heart melted...but his stomach sank. What had he been doing? What was he thinking? For the life of him, he couldn't remember leaving the office during his conversation with Jack. _This is how it started with Russ_, he realized. When Security began flooding the hallway, Oscar walked forward to meet them. ''I need...some help,'' he said simply. ''Padded cell, Second Floor; I don't want...to hurt anyone. And I need...Mark Conrad.'' One fleeting memory came back to him just before they'd reached the elevator and he called over his shoulder to Steve. ''My Locator belt. I...pressed...the button. Get the readings!''

Steve watched them lead Oscar away and then he had his own realization. With Russ locked up in The Hole and Oscar at least temporarily out of commission, just like he'd done during Grant Kingsley's reign of terror, Steve would have to stand at the helm and be the calm, rational voice of reason...and command. The OSI was in his hands. He returned Becca to the nursery, ensuring there were still guards present to watch her and checked on Jaime who was sleeping soundly with Doctor Corinth and Michael at her bedside. Then he headed down to Oscar's office, the one that had been Rudy's before him and was now by process of elimination...Steve's. He sat down at the desk, called for the readings from Oscar's belt and while he waited he picked up the file Oscar must have last been working with - and started reading about Anna Kingsley...

* * *

For Anja, the news wasn't good. Steve Austin had thwarted her new subject's efforts to take the infant! Austin (and his wife, of course) should have already been eliminated! She had the timing down perfectly! Her main subject must have found some way to rebel; he had _failed_ her! She'd find a new subject easily enough so vengeance was merely postponed and not denied but she was annoyed and the cause of her annoyance had to be eliminated. Anja turned her device once again to its highest power and spoke into the Programming unit, instructing him to come to her location. He would pay the price for his failure!

* * *

Michael left Jaime in Doctor Corinth's capable hands under the guise of getting them both some coffee - and he headed out to his car and began to drive to somewhere he'd never been...but somehow knew the way.

In what was now his office, Steve scanned the printed readings from Oscar's locator belt. They had an address! He made several phone calls in rapid succession - some inter-hospital and some inter-agency - and then headed outside to join the team he'd just assembled in a race to catch someone who could truly be called an evil genius...before she could strike again.

- - - - -


	29. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Steve had located the OSI's best driver and their fastest car and there was an entire fleet of cars behind him, lights flashing as they all sped out past the edge of Los Angeles and into the foothills about 20 miles away. Steve wasn't certain they'd find Anna there; it could have been merely a drop-off point...or an intended execution chamber. They could swarm the building from all four sides (which was their plan) and enter to find only bare walls...but Steve's finely-honed instinct told him this would be her headquarters, her base of operations - a place to keep her equipment. He'd spoken with Mark only briefly since taking over command (and at such a crucial time) so Steve didn't know that they'd both come around independently of each other to the same frightening conclusion. Mind control was not only possible, it was _happening_. One by one, the people around them were succumbing to its power. They were being picked off at will, like lambs to the slaughter! Another device was out there - and from what he'd read in Oscar's files, Steve was sure Anna Kingsley was behind at least some of the death and destruction that had surrounded all of them for more than a year. _Geniuses can use their power for good or for evil_, Steve thought silently as they neared the location. _Maybe she's a mastermind and even her older brothers fell under her warped influence. But she's about to see and experience a different influence, up close and personal - the influence of the Federal court system when they lock her up for good._

''Go faster!'' Steve told the driver.

* * *

Mark sat next to Jaime's bed, trying to wrap his mind around everything that had just happened - Oscar with the baby, Steve going after him and then the piercing wail of the alarm. When Steve had returned with Becca, Oscar was nowhere in sight. Steve had motioned Mark into the hallway just as extra guards were arriving to beef security to its maximum level. Quickly, he'd briefed Mark on what had happened and that he was needed on Two - the locked ward. It was for Oscar and it was urgent. Steve had also told him that Corinth was on his way back to sit with Jaime so she wouldn't be surrounded by only the guards if she were to wake suddenly. He hadn't been able to find Michael. Then Steve had to go off to...wherever it was he was going; Mark hadn't had a chance to ask.

While he waited for Corinth, Mark watched his patient sleep. She looked angelically peaceful, with no signs of nightmares. She'd seen something that everyone else had missed...in Oscar's eyes. _Eyes might be her strongest trigger_, Mark noted, _but now they could be her salvation too_. She could see..._something_...in eyes that intended to do her harm. She could spot those who might be under the control of someone who Mark now strongly suspected was behind everything from the formation of Cobra to Jaime's shooting...and whatever might've almost happened with Becca. Everything fit, and Mark had the feeling one might get upon completing a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle after finding the lost piece under a sofa cushion. The picture was complete...but it wasn't a pretty one.

The picture got even uglier when Mark was able to make his way to the locked ward. He punched in his key code and stepped inside when the door clicked for him to enter. He'd assumed Oscar was under sedation in one of the patient rooms and was about to ask a nurse when he noticed the Security guards standing just outside one of the 'quiet rooms'.

''A padded cell?'' he asked incredulously. ''He got that far out of control?''

''This was by Goldman's own request,'' a guard answered. ''He said to keep him inside by whatever means were necessary, until we hear from you that it's safe for him to come out. Said he didn't want to hurt anyone else.''

* * *

The fleet of cars spread out and approached the given address from both the road in front and the side road that ran behind the buildings. The area was residential; they were looking for a house. As instructed, all cars stopped several blocks away so they could move in quietly on foot and surround the entire house in a spiderweb pattern. Steve gave the signal for everyone to move in and the operation to begin. He would use the element of surprise to gain entry, kicking the door in to get her attention and then taking her into custody himself, bionically if necessary. At the very last moment, a red MG squealed up the driveway. _**Michael**__?_!? Steve needed his teams focused on their assigned positions and it was too late to stand down, not even long enough to either warn Michael away...or question his motives for being there at all. Those questions could - and would - come later. Steve raised one foot...and kicked in the door.

''I've been waiting for you, Michael,'' a female voice purred from a room just down the hall. ''I'm in here - and it's time to reward you for a job well done.'' Steve made his way toward her voice with back-up teams directly behind him. If the room had a window (which it did) there'd be more back-up waiting there. He had covered all the bases - except for one. Just inside the room, partially hidden by a large, ominous-looking machine, Anja waited with a weapon aimed at the doorway as a 'reward' for the visitor she'd been expecting. When Steve stepped through the door jamb, his own gun at the ready...Anja pulled the trigger.

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	30. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

His quarry may have been a woman, but she'd fired a weapon at Steve and that threw chivalry right out the window. Steve didn't bother to remove the dart from his arm; it would hang there harmlessly enough for now. (If she'd fired at him a fraction of a second later, he'd have been turning toward her voice and the dart would've hit flesh.) Steve threw the weight of the entire right side of his body into the machine, sending it toward the wall...and pinning his would-be assailant. A member of his team plucked the offending dart from Steve's arm and placed it in an evidence bag.

''Now that's one hell of a way to greet house guests,'' Steve chided. ''And we haven't been introduced yet. So I'll take care of that. You are Anna Kingsley - and you're under arrest. Oh...and me? I'm probably the last person in the world that you'd want to hear those words from!''

''Too tight!'' Anja gasped. ''Can't...breathe.''

''If you're talking, you're breathing,'' Steve shot back. ''So I assume this is your life's work, this _**thing**_ that's holding you to the wall? What if I move it a little closer, huh? A little tighter against you...the irony of being crushed by your own creation...''

''You don't remember me - do you?'' she asked, trying to work her left arm and hand free. If only she could reach it; she was so close!

''Should I?'' Steve pushed the machine a few millimeters closer and watched his quarry squirm. Of course, he remembered her - but he wasn't about to admit it.

''We could've been good together - happily ever after, as they say here. But your thoughts, they were elsewhere.''

''Sorry. Does not compute. You have to be special to be retained in MY memory banks,'' Steve taunted. ''So...how many people have you zapped with this wonderful creation of yours?''

Anja laughed, sucking in her breath because the motion hurt. ''This...thing? I found it at a junkyard. I am an artist and will use the pieces in my next sculpture.''

''_How many_?!'' Steve thundered at her.

''I don't know. But let's find out together, shall we?'' Anja's left hand was finally free just enough for her to reach the lever she'd never flicked before. She coiled the tip of her index finger around it to move it upward so she could hit the confirmation button hidden directly below. This was her fail-safe. She called it her Berserk button. If it was over and she truly wouldn't get the vengeance she'd sought, Anja would at least have this.

On the bench down in The Hole, Russ bellowed with pain worse than any he'd felt before - and handcuffed to the bench, he couldn't even grab his head. When the guard didn't open the door, he began hitting his head against the wall, irrationally trying to knock the pain away. ''Dammit, I need _help_!'' he shouted. The guard wasn't about to fall for another trick. Russ had cried wolf once too often.

In his padded cell with four guards just outside, the same blinding, off-the-charts pain had hit Oscar. He had the presence of mind to knock on the small observation window. ''Don't open this door!'' he told the startled guards, one of whom was already on his radio paging for medical assistance in the Locked Ward because of the way Oscar looked. Oscar heard him. ''No!'' he insisted. ''Don't open this door; not even for medical help.'' His hands pressed hard against his temples as he tried to rid himself of the pain through sheer force of will. ''One thing...I need...'' The guard moved closer, hanging on Oscar's every word and then following his instructions because - after all - he was still _Oscar Goldman_.

Jack Hansen felt no pain at all. He'd been programmed more efficiently, progressively over time - the way Anja preferred it so he wouldn't have those pesky headaches to forewarn him. He'd just gotten off the elevator and was preparing to enter the locked ward because he'd heard the page and one of his primary duties was to keep his 'boss' informed. He did so automatically, the way she'd so carefully instructed and implanted the directions into his mind. He never realized that he was making these calls or what led up to them, but every time an incident occurred, he would be right there under the guise of inter-agency helpfulness but really (without it even registering in his mind) he was gathering information for Anja. There was more Intel to gather and he was just about to do that when he turned on his heels, got back into the elevator and headed down to the ICU...and the nursery.

Outside of the house he'd driven to without knowing why, Michael was still struggling under the effects of the headache he'd left National Medical with. His sole thought was to get inside that house - _he had to get inside_! - and the penguin suits Steve had brought with him were denying his admittance! He couldn't muscle past that many and he couldn't trick them. He knew he should try and focus, to subvert the headache and its effects and he'd just chosen the flowering tree next door and pinned his gaze to it when _real, true __pain_ hit...and he fell to his knees in anguish.

Back in the nursery, Hansen found the crib rail closest to the door was raised to full height but the opposite side was only raised a few inches, so he walked around the crib, smiling at the nurse to let her know he just wanted to look. He snatched up the tiny bundle within and Mark Conrad stepped out from behind the retracted partition, jabbed a needle into his neck and pushed the plunger hard. The unexpected intrusion into his efforts startled him...and he dropped the bundle, which flew open to reveal a blanket had been swaddling another blanket. He'd been tricked - and now they could move him into the cell next to Oscar's to keep him safe (and to keep others safe from him) until things had settled down.

At the same moment, Steve had pulled the machine away and handcuffed his prey. He instructed two of the teams to stand guard over the machine until it could be transported and then he personally loaded Anja into one of the cars, with the directive to take her to NSB Headquarters. As he prepared to slam the car door, she got in one final jab. ''Your precious daughter? You'll never see her again!''

Steve ran back into the house, grateful to find it had a working telephone. He dialed the direct line to the ICU/Nursery...and got no answer. Had Becca been left all alone? Had something happened to her? And what about Jaime?

_Where was his family?_

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	31. Chapter 30 - END

Chapter 30

The first person to _finally_ answer their urgent page from the switchboard was Rudy. Finally, a human voice that might actually be able to give Steve some answers! ''Rudy, what's going on down there?'' Steve asked anxiously. ''I called your room first and got your cardio -''

''Where are you?'' The normally calm-port-in-a-storm doctor sounded like he was nearing the breaking point. ''Steve, there are 972 kinds of holy hell breaking loose here!''

''Jaime and Becca - are they alright? I couldn't get an answer in the ICU!''

''Jaime and Becca are safe. We've got them both under heavy guard in Jaime's old room on Three. Steve, we need you here! Where are you?''

Steve slipped back into a more rational state of mind. His family was safe; now he could attend to the business at hand. ''We've just taken the Kingsley twins' younger sister into custody,'' Steve explained. ''And we seem to be in possession of a machine she was using to -''

''A machine?'' Rudy repeated. He began to calm down as well, the scientist in him taking over. ''Do you know if she made some sort of new threat or pushed a button as you got to her - anything like that?''

''She was trying to get her hands free from where I had her pinned,'' Steve recalled, ''and she said something about how we'd all find out together how many subjects she had.''

''Alright, listen to me carefully. I need that machine turned off, deactivated, placed out of service immediately. And since I doubt she's got an obvious On/Off switch, you'll just have to smash it.''

''We may need it for evidence,'' Steve countered. ''I've got four of my best guarding it now.''

''Steve, you need to trust me on this,'' Rudy told him. ''Do it under my authority - I'll take the blame - but you need to destroy that thing before we lose Oscar, Russ and Hansen!''

Steve looked out the window to where Michael was being tended to by a pair of penguin suits while they waited for the summoned medevac. The young doctor was sitting on the ground with his head between his knees, from all appearances in agonizing pain. ''Add Michael to that list,'' Steve said grimly.

''He's with you? Steve, don't even try to find any sort of switch or button. Just get rid of that...invention...and call me back! Please!''

''Colonel Austin!'' called an urgent voice from the room with the machine. It had begun emitting sparks from one end and smoke from every corner and cranny. Steve looked at the machine that was likely the source of the majority of his family and friends' suffering for more than a year and suddenly the weight that had made it difficult to even push toward the wall earlier was of no consequence. Out of sheer, unbridled anger, Steve picked up the contraption, carried it outside and _threw_ it toward the end of the driveway, away from the house and away from where Michael was seated in the grass. The resulting fireball was white-hot and burned itself out in mere seconds.

Michael's head rose from his knees and he looked around in confusion, trying to orient himself when he had no clue where he was. He watched Steve run down the driveway to where there seemed to be a lot of smoke. While Steve was stomping out the last of the sparks, he was looking back up the driveway at Michael...wondering. Steve had heard him outside the house, arguing with the men at the door to let him in - and the arguing had ceased at precisely the moment Anna had moved her hand toward what was apparently a hidden switch. From outside, Michael would've had no way of knowing that. And now, with the machine destroyed, the young doctor appeared to be fine. Was it possible that Michael hadn't been faking?

''Stay with him until the medevac gets here and then hold it for me, because I'll be riding it back too,'' Steve instructed his men, before hurrying into the house to call Rudy.

''Steve, whatever you just did, _thank you_!'' Rudy crowed into the phone. ''Oscar and Jack seem alright now; I think they can safely be examined and tended to. I'll even hazard a guess that Russ is okay, as well.''

''So is Michael,'' Steve told him. ''Rudy, the chopper's here - so I'll see you in 10. Looks like we've all got a lot to talk about.''

* * *

Jaime surfaced from the stronger than normal dose of sedation to find herself upstairs, in 'her' room on the Third floor. The first thing she noticed when her vision started to clear was a line of Security men that extended from her bed to the door. She started to panic and turned her head to the other side, where Steve always sat next to her...and Becca was there instead, sound asleep in a porta-crib. Where was her husband...or Mark...and how did she get here?

''Easy now,'' Doctor Corinth soothed, stepping to where Jaime could see him. ''Everything's alright. We needed to move you for a Security drill and -''

''This...doesn't look like a 'drill','' Jaime said slowly. ''Please...where's Steve?''

''He'll be back as soon as he can be, I promise you -''

''Like maybe...now?'' came the voice from the doorway (the only voice Jaime wanted to hear).

''Steve! I...you...what happened?''

Steve nodded to the guards. ''Thank you,'' he told them. ''We've got an All-Clear; you can return to stations.'' Then he rushed to the bed and gently held his wife who cried on his shoulder out of relief and happiness. She didn't understand what had just happened, but sensed that a corner had been turned somehow - and that everything would be alright, after all. From the porta-crib, Becca began to coo and Steve scooped her up and laid her across Jaime's stomach so the little family of three could close ranks in a tender embrace.

END OF EPISODE THREE (to be continued in Episode Four)

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End file.
